The Gypsy Morph

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE WIND APPEARED shortly after midafternoon in the worst heat of the day. Hawk noticed it first as a series of small gusts that touched down just long enough to stir the loose earth. The larger blow was distant still, too far away for its full force to be felt, an invisible presence kicking at the barren flats. He was walking point with Cheney, his eyes sweeping the horizon when he could make himself stop looking at the steady, monotonous movement of his feet. One foot in front of the other, second foot in front of the first, over and over. He was bone–weary and disheartened, but he was keeping it to himself.

Wind, he thought in surprise, and then glanced at the cloudless sky. Was a change in the weather coming?

Within minutes, the first breezes blew across his face, hot and dry and empty of any promise of rain. The blown air was thick with dirt, and it stung the skin of his face as it swept past, died away, and started up again. He searched the horizon more carefully. Any clouds he could spy were clustered atop either the mountains they had left or the ones they were heading toward, the former seemingly no farther away and the latter seemingly no closer than when they had set out. He fought down the sensation of having gotten nowhere, of having not moved at all. He understood that distances were deceiving, but the perception was disconcerting nevertheless.

Ahead several paces, Cheney lowered his head against the bursts of wind and plodded on, ruff flattened.

As if he knew where he was going even if Hawk didn’t. The boy smiled despite himself. Good old Cheney.

As the force of the wind increased, he glanced over his shoulder at the caravan, a winding snake trailing away behind him in a ragged collection of vehicles, wagons, and people, a pall of dust hanging over everything. The muttering that had begun the night before seeming to trail after it, small whispers of discontent and doubt that circulated through the camp like bothersome flies. They had no specific source, only a specific target. He didn’t hear it himself; the speakers were careful not to say anything in his presence. But word got back to him nevertheless, the way word always does.

“You got to do something about these compound kids flapping their lips, Bird‑Man,” Panther had told him as they’d set out earlier. “All they do is talk, talk, talk about how you don’t know nothing, you just wandering about like some fool. They say you brought them out here to die. This ain’t the little ones; this is the bigger kids, ones who ought to know better. I told a couple of them if I hear that kind of talk again, I’m gonna hit them so hard it’ll kill their whole family. Frickin’ fools.”

Panther, never one to hold anything back. Hawk told him to let it be, that there was bound to be some of that sort of talk. What mattered was that the Ghosts still believed in him.

But did they? Though openly supportive, they, too, must be harboring doubts by now. Some of them, at least. Owl would never doubt him. River probably wouldn’t, either. But the others were struggling, he imagined. They couldn’t help it, whether they admitted to it or not. He didn’t blame them. After all, he was struggling, too.

Not too much farther ahead, he believed, they would find the north–south branch of the Columbia River. Owl had told him so, had shown him the river on one of her maps, tracing their route from where they had left the bridge and its defenders. A little town called Vantage marked the crossing point, a bridge that he hoped was still intact. That was where they were heading. Once across, the landscape would change again, becoming rolling hill country for a time. Maybe they would find water in those hills. Maybe the sun wouldn’t be so intense.

Yet he still had no idea where it was they were going or how far yet they must travel. His sense of where they were meant to go, his instincts, kept him on this path, moving forward. But his instincts were blind, the path invisible, and time short. Everyone knew that the demon–led army would be hunting them. Perhaps Logan Tom and the men and women left behind at the bridge had stopped it momentarily, had turned it aside. But sooner or later it would find a way across the gorge and come after them anew.

Nothing would change for them until they reached the safehold promised in his dream. Nothing would change until he could find the King of the Silver River.

He felt a presence at his side, and a small hand reached over to take his own. Candle, her mop of red hair tangled and wild, her clothes disheveled and dusty, and her face intense, stared up at him, the look in her blue eyes uncertain.

“Can I walk with you?” she asked.

“Of course you can walk with me, peanut,” he told her.

He squeezed her small hand reassuringly and shortened his longer stride to match her own. They walked without speaking for a time, and Hawk found an unexpected measure of comfort in the warm touch of her little girl’s grip.

Ahead, the dust clouded the horizon in widening sweeps, and the wind gathered force.

“Tell me a story, Hawk?” Candle asked suddenly.

He glanced over. “What kind of story?”

“A story about the King of the Silver River. You saw him, didn’t you?”

“I did, but only for a little bit. And I don’t know any stories about him.”

“Tell me what he looks like.”

Hawk thought about it for a moment. “He is very old. An old man with white hair and a beard. But he has a nice voice.”

“What color are his eyes?”

“Blue, I think. He can appear and disappear just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He did it to me once. It was so quick. First he was there and then he was gone and then a little later he was back again.”

“Was it magic?”

“I think probably it was.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes on the ground as she walked, thinking. He let her be. He knew she was going through a difficult period, that the loss of her ability to detect potential danger had left her feeling diminished and perhaps even useless to the family. Her talent had defined her for so long that it was hard for him to think of her in any other way, even knowing that she was different now. He could only imagine how it had affected her.

“Are the gardens beautiful, Hawk?” she asked finally.

“As beautiful as anything I have ever seen.”

“Can you tell me about them, too?”

He did so, taking time to describe all of the beds and bushes and vines, the colors and types of flowers and the way they formed patterns and shapes against their lush green backdrop. He talked about the skies and the sweep of the land. He sketched pictures of the fountains and the pools that dotted the countryside. He told her how the gardens stretched away farther than the eye could see, as if they might run on forever. He had walked and walked, and he had never seen their end.

She smiled when he was done, squinting against the glare of the sun and the gusts of wind. “I would like to see them,” she said.

“You will,” he answered.

She shook her head, as if uncertain of that. “I wish I could do more to help you. I’m just another kid like all those compound kids. I can’t do anything anymore.”

“That’s not true. You help Owl every day. She depends on you. She told me so.”

“River and Sparrow can help her better than I can.”

He took a deep breath. “Look, Candle. I want you to stop thinking about what you can’t do. I know you miss it. We all do. But things change. People change. I’m not the same, either. I worried about it all the time, at first. But I’ve learned to stop. You have to do that, too. Besides, I think you should give yourself some time before you decide that you’ve changed for good.”

“What if we don’t have time? Look at what’s happened to us in just a few weeks.” Her gaze was steady, her face calm. She looked so grownup. “If something happens that I should have known about, it will be my fault.”

“Nothing that happens will be your fault,” he said, squeezing her hand to emphasize the point.

“What happened to Chalk was my fault.”

He felt his reply catch in his throat. “No, it wasn’t. Not any more than it was with Squirrel or Mouse. Even if you could have sensed things the way you used to, you couldn’t have done anything. None of us could. We all look out for each other the best way we can. But sometimes even that isn’t enough. You know that.”

She nodded, but didn’t look as if she believed it.

“Like I said,” he followed up quickly, “your ability to sense danger might be on vacation for a time. Maybe it will come back. You need to give it a chance.”

She nodded again, still looking doubtful. He gave her a moment, and then he said, “Maybe you’re trying too hard. Maybe you can still sense danger just like you used to. Maybe you’ve just forgotten how to let it happen.” He paused. “When that boy who killed Squirrel took you away from us, you had a pretty bad time of it. Maybe that was part of it.”

She still didn’t say anything, her forehead furrowed in thought, her mouth pursed. “Maybe.”

The wind gusted sharply and particles of dust flew through the air like tiny needles, stinging the flesh. Hawk ducked his head and covered his mouth and nose with his collar. Candle’s lowered face was completely hidden by the mop of her hair. Hawk wanted to talk to her some more, but it had become impossible to do anything but slog on through the screen of grit and debris whirling around them. Moments later, Helen Rice, riding one of the AVs, caught up to them and announced that the caravan was becoming too strung out and they were going to have to close the gaps before they got separated altogether. What had started as a normal wind stirring up the loose earth of the flats was turning into a full–blown dust storm, and she was stopping the caravan until it passed.

Reluctantly, Hawk agreed. “You better get back with Owl,” he told Candle. “She might need your help. We’ll talk some more later. I promise.”

The little girl turned away, heading back toward the Lightning, her head still lowered, her face hidden. He wasn’t happy with leaving things this way, but there wasn’t any choice.

“Take Cheney with you!” he called after her. “Go on, Cheney,” he urged the big dog, gesturing.

With a rueful glance over his shoulder, Cheney slouched over to join Candle. As the pair headed back toward the Lightning, Hawk stood where he was for a while, waiting for the rest of the caravan to catch up. In bits and pieces, it did so. The children were shepherded into the center of the camp by their caregivers while the drivers and guards worked quickly to construct makeshift facilities. The intensity of the storm continued to increase. By now the flats east were roiling with clouds of dust so high, the distant mountains were blocked from view. Hawk walked back through the camp, helping where he could, speaking to everyone, making it a point to let those he led know he was still there and still actively involved in what was happening. He did what he could to reassure them. It took almost an hour for the last of the stragglers to wander in, and by then everyone was in the process of covering up as best they could. There was little protection to be had for those outside the vehicles and the wagons; most simply hunkered down behind whatever shelter they could find. The wind howled, and the dust spattered against metal and canvas with a strange hissing sound. The storm was all around now, closing the members of the caravan away in a whispery, whirling shroud, and the world beyond disappeared as if blown away.

Hawk finished walking the camp from end to end, taking time to check that there were guards posted everywhere, and that no gaps in the defenses would allow an unnoticed breach. On his way back to the point, he stopped to speak with the caregivers who had gathered the bulk of the children inside a trio of broad, squat tents where they could be kept close together and carefully watched. He had not forgotten what was out there in the invisible nothing, what was waiting to steal away more victims if it could. Their predator was still hunting them. He did not pretend to understand its reasoning. But he had looked into its strange eyes and he understood well enough what sort of monster it was.

Once outside, he started toward the Lightning AV where Owl and the other Ghosts would have gathered. He had almost reached it when he caught sight of Tessa moving at the perimeter of the camp. She was between an old truck and a wagon, weaving her way through a series of small tents toward the waiting storm. At first he could not believe that he was seeing correctly, but then he saw her lift her head momentarily as if searching for something.

A second later, she was through the gap between the vehicles and outside the camp.

He stared in disbelief. Tessa!

He paused only a second to wonder what she was doing, and then he was running after her, hurrying to catch up.

In the wild rush of the wind and dust, with everyone trying to get under cover, only one member of the caravan saw him go.

FARTHER WEST, still many miles away, Logan Tom and Simralin Belloruus rode the Ventra 5000 toward the roiling gray wall of the dust storm. They had watched it grow in intensity during the past hour, and now they knew with certainty how severe it was going to be. They also knew that there was no time to get out of its path.

“We have to take shelter,” Logan said, giving voice to what they were both thinking.

He drove on for a short distance, then turned the big AV down into a ravine and parked it in the lee of a rocky outcropping that formed a barrier between themselves and the approaching storm. Glancing doubtfully at their meager protection, he shut down the engine and turned off the power. Outside, the wind howled across the barren landscape with such force that the entire vehicle shuddered.

“Guess this will have to do,” he said.

Simralin made no reply. They sat in silence, listening to the wind. The storm rolled over them, thick with dirt particles, and the sky and the earth disappeared within its roiling shroud. The light died and left them shadows cloaked in a gray–brown haze. The sound of the sand striking the hard surfaces of the outcropping and the AV was like the buzzing of angry bees. Outside the shell of the vehicle, the world slowly disappeared behind the wall of the storm.

“Tell me the rest of what happened to you,” she urged him.

He had begun relating the details of his own experience in escaping from the Cintra shortly after they had set out yesterday, then lost the thread somewhere along the way and hadn’t gotten back to it. He had gotten as far as Kirisin’s ordeal as a prisoner of the skrails, assuring her first that her brother was safe and well, but he hadn’t gone on from there. She knew of Praxia’s role in retrieving the Loden after Kirisin had dropped it, but not anything of the aftermath.

So he finished up now with Praxia’s death and the deaths of her companions, Que’rue and Ruslan, as they defended the Elfstone against the rogue militia that had stumbled on them while they tried to reach the Columbia River and safety. Simralin listened without comment, her eyes on his face, her gaze so intense that it almost hurt to bear its weight.

“I wish I could have gotten back to them,” he confessed. “But saving Kirisin was more important. I almost didn’t manage that.”

“You managed just fine,” she said. “If Kirisin had been lost, everything would have been lost. An entire people, Logan. Anyway, you did the best you could with the others. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

She was silent a moment. “I’m surprised about Praxia. She never demonstrated that level of selflessness before. She was always so self–involved. But not this time.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes we rise above ourselves.”

“Sometimes.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. They’re all gone, the whole squad I worked with all these years. Just like that. I’ve known some of them all my life, Logan.”

“Almost everything is hard to believe. I’ve stopped being surprised.” He gave her a half smile. “Except by you.”

“I’m not so surprising.”

“You don’t think so? I don’t know anyone who could have made it back here alone the way you did.

Not in the face of what was chasing you. Not through land as dangerous as this. You talk about what I can manage, but I don’t think I am anywhere near as capable as you are.”

“Then maybe it’s a good thing we found each other. What do you think? An Elf and a human? Do you think there’s any kind of chance?”

“I think there’s always a chance.”

He kissed her, and she laid her head against his shoulder. They stayed like that as the storm raged, and he found himself thinking of something he hadn’t told her. When the once–men had stormed the bridge and it had seemed as if they were using Simralin and the other Elves as shields, he’d had to make a choice, one based almost solely on instinct. He had believed that what he was seeing was an illusion, that Simralin and the others weren’t real. But he hadn’t known for certain. Even so, he had ordered them fired upon, a death sentence if he was wrong.

And if he had been wrong, he would have been forced to live with the knowledge that he had killed the woman he loved.

It was a stark reality, even in a world where reality was never anything but hard–edged and brutal. He had chosen the lives of the many over the lives of the few. But the truth he was forced to confront in retrospect was darker still. If he had it to do over again, even knowing that what he was seeing wasn’t an illusion, he would make the same choice.

He thought suddenly that he should tell her this, that she deserved to know. But he couldn’t make himself. Besides, didn’t she already know how it was with him? Didn’t she understand him well enough by now to realize how it was always likely to be? He considered several explanations and rejected them all. He didn’t want to talk about such things with her. The world was a dark enough place; he didn’t need to speak of the particulars of that darkness.

He stayed silent instead, holding her, taking advantage of moments that might not come again.

CANDLE HAD GONE BACK with Cheney to join the others, hunkering down in the AV as the fury of the wind increased, thinking through what Hawk had told her. Maybe he was right. Maybe her instincts were just taking a rest, and she needed to give them time to recover. She knew she hadn’t been the same since that boy with the ruined face had kidnapped her. Though she hadn’t told anyone, she was still haunted by nightmares of being taken, of being forcibly separated from her family. She still dreamed of what it had been like. She still dreamed, as well, of his screams as whatever it was that had been stalking them had caught up to him.

She didn’t want to hear screaming like that ever again.

Glancing out the window, she saw Hawk walk by, head down, shoulders hunched, heading for the rear of the column as the caravan closed ranks and prepared to wait out the storm. Something about him bothered her, but she couldn’t decide what it was. A little while later, Angel Perez stopped to look in on them. Candle huddled against Owl, a silent presence, as the Knight of the Word spoke a few words of encouragement and departed. The little girl was still thinking about Hawk when she saw him coming back again, appearing unexpectedly out of the haze. She hesitated, and then for reasons she didn’t fully understand, she bolted from the vehicle and went after him. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do, only that she needed to reach him. It was an impulsive and mysterious act, tied to what she was feeling, though not in any way she could have explained.

Owl’s protestations trailed after her, but she didn’t slow. The wind gusted in stinging swipes, blowing clouds of dirt into her face. She squinted, lowered her head, and ran as best she could. But Hawk was striding ahead determinedly, and her calls to him were swallowed up in the wind’s booming howl.

She had almost lost him when he stopped and stared between the encircling vehicles and wagons at something moving in the haze. She caught sight of a familiar figure slipping through a gap between the wagons, there one moment and gone the next, moving out into the empty landscape. Was that really Tessa? She watched Hawk hesitate and then rush after the other girl. She called to him once more, but he didn’t hear. A second later, he had disappeared.

Almost instantly, she knew that something was wrong. She could feel it the way she used to. Just like that, she could tell. Her heart began to pound, her nerves caught fire, and in the blink of an eye her instincts kicked back into life, returned from wherever they had been hiding. She didn’t need to be told what was happening. She didn’t need to second–guess what she was feeling. She recognized it for what it was.

She knew, too, with a certainty that was frightening, that Hawk was in trouble.

Come back, Hawk! Don’t go!

She thought to follow him, to go after him and help. But she was only a little girl. What could she do? Instead, she turned and raced back toward the AV and her family. She was almost there when she ran right into Panther, who had been sent by Owl to bring her back.

“Whoa, wild thing, what do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at her through the wail of the wind, grasping her shoulders and holding her fast. He knelt in front of her, his dark face bent close, his eyes blinking against the swirl of dust. “You want to get blown away?”

“Hawk’s in trouble!” she gasped, clutching him back. “He went outside the camp! He’s following Tessa, but something’s wrong, Panther! I know it! I can tell!”

She was sobbing now, overcome with the intensity of her feelings, of the dark whispers in her head. He didn’t question her, didn’t even pause to ask for details. He straightened at once, picked her up, and trotted back to the Lightning, saying, “Okay, okay, you did good, did the right thing, don’t worry, we’ll get the Bird‑Man back.”

He literally tossed her inside the AV, shouting for Bear to grab the Tyson Flechette and come with him. Sparrow was out of the Lightning, as well, Parkhan Spray leveled. “What’s happened?”

“Don’t know. But Candle ain’t never wrong, and if she says Bird‑Man’s in trouble, that’s what it is. You coming? Bear, get me my weapon! Where’s Cheney?”

In moments, the three were gathered together, huddled around Cheney, who had been sleeping under the AV. The others had crowded into the open doorway, watching anxiously. “Panther, I don’t think you should do this!” Owl shouted at him through the rush of wind. “Don’t go out there alone! Wait for help!”

“Can’t do that!” the boy shouted back, racking the slide on the spray. “Might not be time! Not if it’s that

…” He didn’t finish, bending down to Cheney, whispering to him, holding Hawk’s leather gloves under the big dog’s nose and then leading him over to where Hawk had walked past earlier.

“Track, Cheney!” he ordered.

Cheney seemed to know what was needed, setting off at once into the haze. “Send help if you can find it!” Panther called back over his shoulder, and disappeared with Bear and Sparrow after the dog.

Owl shut the AV’s door and sat back. Candle huddled down in the seat next to her, staring, her instincts still as sharp and jagged as broken glass. Nothing felt right. Panther and the others weren’t going to be enough. She could sense it already. They weren’t strong enough, even with their weapons.

Seconds later she leapt up, threw open the door, and jumped from the vehicle once more, shouting to Owl that she would be back, that she was going for help.

She already knew where she would find it.