by Terry Brooks
Kirisin nodded his understanding, even though he wasn’t sure he understood at all. But the anger he might have felt before did not surface now. Instead, he felt only sadness for the King.
“I am going to do what you have asked of me,” the King declared, his voice firm and steady once again. “We have to protect the Elven people and the city. I’m convinced that you are capable of that. Your use of the Elfstone magic to stop Tragen tells me so. Erisha saw that, as well, I think. Are you still willing to use the Loden and to act as our protector?”
The boy nodded at once.
“Then this is what you will do. As soon as dawn breaks, you will place the Ellcrys, Arborlon, and the Elven people within the Loden. I will remain outside with our Elven Hunters to protect you. We will do whatever is needed to see that you get safely away from the demon army to where it is that you are supposed to go. You have some sense of where this is, don’t you?”
Again, the boy nodded. In truth, he wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t about to admit to it. “I will need to speak with the Ellcrys,” he said.
“You will have that opportunity. She has guided you well so far. Much better than I have.” He glanced quickly at the room behind him, as if making sure it was secure. “Ordanna Frae is now first minister. He will go into the Loden with the rest of the Elves to form a new High Council and advise the Elven population of my decision. He will be responsible for preventing panic and for preparing our people for whatever awaits them.”
He paused. “A lot depends on you, Kirisin.”
“I know.”
“If anything happens to you, the Elves will be trapped within the Loden. Perhaps forever. Basselin was right about that much.”
“He knows,” Simralin answered for Kirisin.
The King glanced sharply at Simralin, but did not rebuke her. “I suppose he does.” He looked back at the boy. “If you find yourself in real danger or are injured badly, you must release the Elves. If you are trapped and cannot escape, you must release them. If I order you to do so, you must release them. They are not to be abandoned, no matter what. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
The King nodded. His strong face tightened with determination, and he straightened his big frame. “Do you think there might be other demons among us?”
Kirisin had no idea. He hadn’t even considered the possibility, still shaken from discovering that Tragen was one. The suggestion that there might be others still was terrifying.
“I don’t think we can discount the possibility.” Arissen Belloruus paused, seeing the look on his face. “So I am asking your sister to take personal responsibility for your safety. She will choose a handful of others to help her.” He looked at Simralin. “After Tragen, it will be difficult to know whom you can trust. You couldn’t even trust me until now. I realize that. I gave you every reason not to. But we have to start somewhere.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Simralin promised.
The King gave her a fleeting smile. “I know you will. You will take care of each other. Better than I was able to take care of Erisha.” He shook his head. “I still can’t quite make myself believe that she’s gone. I keep waiting for her to come home.” He rubbed at his face, hiding his eyes. Then he straightened abruptly, exhaling. “I have difficulty imagining what is happening. To leave the Cintra, after all these years. After decades. Centuries. To be threatened like this. To know what lies ahead. Or, more correctly perhaps, not to know, but to be able only to speculate.”
He trailed off. Then he took Ordanna Frae’s arm. “Come with me, First Minister. There are preparations to make.”
Kirisin and his sister watched them go. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Simralin took her brother’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go. Dawn is six hours away. We need to get some sleep.”
Together they stumbled lead-footed from the room.
ELEVEN
L OGAN TOM drove the Ventra 5000 southeast into the mountains for what remained of the day after leaving the Portland area, following the two-lane road upon which Trim had set him. There were opportunities to take other roads, but the owl kept to the one they had started out on. He flew ahead, frequently cutting cross-country over fields and through forests, leaving Logan to assume that he would be met again somewhere down the road, which he always was. His hesitation about following Trim, so pronounced when he had first discovered that the owl was to be his guide, had given way to a grudging reliance. He supposed he would have been uneasy about following anyone, owl or human; his natural instinct after all these years on his own was to trust no one. But there was no one with whom to argue the matter, and Trim seemed set upon their course, so Logan quickly accepted the inevitable and went where he was led.
When darkness began to set in, they were at the foot of the big mountain he had spied earlier while crossing into Oregon over the Columbia. His maps identified it as Mount Hood. It was a massive rock, and the road led right up one side and into mountains that stretched beyond it to the south, so Logan knew he was going to face some rough traveling before the night was over. Stopping for sleep didn’t seem to be in the owl’s plans; he kept flying ahead, taking Logan higher and deeper into the chain, past Mount Hood and into the tangle of peaks beyond. Progress was slow, the roads narrow and winding and frequently littered with debris of one sort or another. In some places, the pavement was so badly split by crevices or collapsed beneath sinkholes that Logan had to drive the Ventra off road to continue. But the Ventra was such a beast that it surmounted obstacles almost effortlessly, its big wheels, high chassis, and powerful engine giving it the ability to do everything but climb trees. And Logan wouldn’t have bet against that.
When it finally got too dark to go farther safely, Trim winged his way back to Logan and settled on the Ventra’s roof. Logan pulled over, climbed out, and checked to be certain of the owl’s intent. Trim regarded him from the roof with saucer eyes, and then took flight. Logan watched him fly off a short distance and roost in a nearby tree. When the bird showed no signs of doing anything more, Logan climbed back inside the Ventra, shut down the AV’s engine, locked the doors, set the security alarms, settled back in his seat, and drifted off to sleep.
He woke to the sound of the owl’s soft hoot and a scrabbling of its talons on the Ventra’s metal roof. Sunlight was pouring down out of a cloudless sky, the day bright and clear. From the position of the sun, he guessed it was nearing midday. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, ate and drank a little something, turned the Ventra’s engine back on, and set out once more.
This day’s journey was rougher and more protracted. They left Mount Hood behind early and moved into high desert country where the landscape was bleak and empty and the road frequently disappeared beneath sand and scrub. Flat stretches were interspersed with hummocks and ravines, with dry washes and ridges so rocky that they looked like dragon spines. The country was volcanic, dotted with cinder cones and awash in cinder dust and lava rock. Cactus littered the terrain in vast clumps; everything else that grew was stunted and wintry and edged with thorns or razor-sharp bark. He drove the AV around and over and through it all, letting Trim show him the way, keeping clear of places where the sand and grit looked uncertain, as if covering sinkholes and crevasses that might drop him into a black pit.
Sometimes, he found himself navigating through ravines so deep that he could not see beyond the rims save for where the sky domed overhead. He had to trust to Trim in those situations, unable to determine with any accuracy even which direction he was going. Everything took a long time, and the hours rolled by without any noticeable progress. One section of the land looked pretty much like another. Off to the west, distant and remote, the chain of the mountains stretched parallel to his drive, their dark barren peaks cutting sharply against the sky, their rock a wall that locked away whatever lay beyond. There was an alien quality to those mountains that reminded him of his encounter with the spirits of the dead in the Rockies, and he found himself hoping that he would not have to go into t
hem in order to find the Elves.
Elves. He thought about them the way he thought about the spirits of the dead—as insubstantial as smoke, as ephemeral as mist. He could not put faces to them, could not give them features, could not imagine their place in the world. Memory of the dead faded with time; of Elves, there were no memories at all. He might try to believe in them, but it would take an encounter with one to make them come alive.
He stopped and ate once during the day’s long drive, pulling off into a barren flat where the horizon stretched away into tomorrow. The emptiness was depressing, a warning of the world’s future. He tried not to think about that future, about what the Lady had told him, but he might as well have been trying not to think about eating and drinking. It was an unavoidable presence in his life, a reality that rode on his shoulders like a weight.
He switched his thinking over to Hawk and the Ghosts, wondering how they were managing without him, left to make their way east to where the boy would become leader of a tribe of children and caregivers, of strays and castoffs, and of creatures once human but no longer so. The boy and his children, Owl would say. He couldn’t quite picture this, either. But he knew it would happen because that was the task that the gypsy morph had been given to do.
And he would go with them.
To someplace new and different, to a fresh beginning.
He shook his head. He was twenty-eight years old, and he had lived almost his entire life traveling a single path, engaged in a single struggle. He could not imagine the sort of change that lay ahead. He could not imagine his place in it.
Sunset came and went, and still Trim led him on. Stars brightened the night sky, and because there was no competing light from anywhere on ground level he was able to keep track of the owl’s flight and find his way. The terrain had flattened out in the last hour or so, the road winding through low hills, closing on the mountains west. Within an hour of darkness pushing the last of the light below the horizon, he had left the highway and was driving along a singletrack road that was rutted and grown thick with weeds and scrub. He was in the mountain chain by now, the peaks dark pinnacles against the night sky. The Ventra worked its way steadily ahead, climbing and descending by equal turns, following the road he had set it upon, an old logging road, he guessed. Complete concentration was required in order to avoid the larger obstacles that might cause trouble even for the Ventra, so he was unaware of time passing as he drove.
Eventually, he gained the far side of the mountains and found himself deep in forests thick with foliage and glistening with life. He stared around, not quite believing what he was seeing. He had never seen trees as lush and full as these; he didn’t think they existed. It was the way the old world might have been, before the poisons and the changes in climate ruined it. The road wound through its center for a long time, navigating streams not yet dried out and ravines in which ferns grew, undulating in a soft wind like waves on open water.
Unable to help himself, he stopped the AV and climbed out. Motionless, he stood looking out into the darkness, into the forest that surrounded him. He smelled the air, breathing it in. Fresh and clean. He tasted it and found it free of bitterness, of any metallic edge. He listened. Night birds called to each other or maybe just to be heard, their cries echoing through the trees.
Where was he? What place was this?
Trim flew back into view and settled on the roof of the Ventra, round eyes regarding him intently. Logan stared at the bird. “Why don’t you tell me what else you know that I don’t?” he said.
He got into the AV and prepared to set off again, but the owl didn’t move from the vehicle roof. Apparently, this was it for the day. He climbed out again, asked aloud if they were done, waited for an answer—as if there might be one—and finally climbed back into the cab, secured the locks, and went to sleep.
When he woke next, it was not yet dawn. Trim was perched on the hood of the Ventra staring at him through the windshield, saucer eyes glowing like lamps. It was the stare that had brought him awake, he decided, pushing himself upright. He was stiff and groggy, but he made himself get out and walk around until both conditions had disappeared. The forest was a lush damp curtain, filled with new smells and muted colors. There were wildflowers growing all around him, an impossibility, a miracle. He stared at them as if they were something born of an alien world. He stared at the huge trees surrounding him, some with trunks so massive they dwarfed the stone columns of the abandoned government buildings he had seen in Chicago as a boy. The trunks were twisted and gnarly and had the look of something that had been tall and straight once but had been melted by the sun. They were all different, each one a sculpture carved by an artist of endless imagination.
He walked over to one, a giant with limbs that stretched so wide they brushed up against the other trees surrounding it, and he touched its rough bark with his fingers. He looked up into its center where shadows and leaves intermingled and everything felt hushed and hidden. He could see shards of starlight slanting through its multilayered canopy, dappling its limbs. He moved to one side and let a slender ray fall across his face. He smiled in the softness of its glow.
When he stepped away again, there were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t explain what had caused them, couldn’t understand how they had surfaced so quickly. Maybe they had been triggered by a memory from his boyhood or a dream he had forgotten. He brushed them away with the back of his hand. It was too much, he thought. This forest, with its smells and tastes and look and feel—it was too much. Everything was so overwhelming. No wonder he was crying.
Then Trim gave a small screech, and he glanced over to find the owl perched on the roof of the AV. Trim was ready to go. Logan sighed, turned away from the trees, and walked over to the bird. Immediately it flew away into the forest. Logan watched it go, waited for it to circle back in the way it did when telling him he needed to follow, saw it reappear higher up in the trees, and started to get into the AV. But then he realized that the road that had brought him in ended at this clearing. He scanned the landscape for signs of another road, then a trail, and finally a pathway or anything that resembled one. Nothing. Moreover, the trees were too thickly massed for the Ventra to pass. Wherever he was going, he was going to have to get there on foot.
Stuffing food and water containers into a backpack he slung over his shoulder, he picked up his black staff and set out.
He walked for about an hour, wending his way through the dark mass of the trees, climbing over fallen logs and in and out of shallow ravines, fording streams and skirting thorny brush, all the while following his winged guide. Trailers of mist curled through the forest like ethereal snakes. Starlight shone down through the screen of the leafy canopy, made pale and diffuse. Shadows layered the earth, climbed the trunks of the trees, crawled out on limbs, and disappeared into the ether. Birdsong followed after him, rose ahead of him, spread out around him in lilting welcome, brought to life by dawn’s approach. He found himself smiling. Where would he rather be than here, whatever the reason for coming?
Nowhere, he answered himself. Nowhere else.
He came upon the clearing unexpectedly, his eyes following Trim’s flight through the trees, only half paying attention to what until now had been an unchanging forest. But all at once he was standing in an open space on the high slopes of the mountainside, looking down on a forestland that stretched away for miles.
He was also staring at a hot-air balloon.
He recognized it for what it was immediately. The basket was sitting upright in the clearing with the air bag lying uphill on the ground in front of it, all of its stays attached, a compressor motor situated with a hose end funneling into the bag’s mouth, everything ready to fill the bag and take flight. He walked over to the balloon and stood looking down at it, wondering what it was doing here, who had flown it in, and why it was set out this way.
Trim had flown back again and was roosting on one edge of the basket, round eyes fixed on him.
“Another Knight
of the Word,” a voice said from behind him. “What’s your name?”
He turned quickly, bringing up his staff. A young woman had emerged from the trees behind him. Mist wrapped her legs and spread away before her in a heavy carpet, giving her the appearance of having somehow been formed of it. He hadn’t heard her approach, hadn’t heard her at all. That didn’t happen often. She was tall and lithe with long blond hair tied back from her face with a headband. Her loose clothing blended perfectly with her surroundings, and the way she carried herself suggested that this was her country.
“Who are you?” she repeated.
When she spoke this time, he could see her perfectly, her features revealed by pale silver light that striped her body from head to foot and gave her an exotic, alien look. He felt something shift inside. The shift was small, but intense. He could not define what it was, but he knew instinctively what it meant. Nothing would ever be the same for him again.
He tightened his grip on the black staff out of a sudden need for reassurance. “I’m Logan Tom.”
She inclined her head, a cross between a greeting and an acknowledgment. “Are you friends with Angel Perez?”
He started to answer, to tell her he didn’t know anyone named Angel Perez, and then suddenly he noticed her ears, slightly pointed at the tips, and her eyebrows, which were slanted upward across her forehead. He stared at her just long enough that there was no mistaking what he was looking at.
He flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just that . . .” He trailed off. “You’re an Elf, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Did Angel tell you about us?”
“I don’t know Angel. I was sent by the Lady to find you. To find the Elves, I mean.”
