The Gypsy Morph (18 page)

She was looking away now, off into the trees. “Little K is a lot stronger than people give him credit for. He’s tough and he’s smart. He saved my life in the ice caves on Syrring Rise. He saved Angel’s life, too. Someone else—maybe almost anyone else—would have collapsed under the weight of the responsibility he was given. Fleeing his home and his city and his people when he had never been away for more than a few days and then just a short distance, using the Elfstones when he didn’t know what that would do to him, that took courage. I can’t even imagine what standing up to Culph and then to Tragen required.”

Logan nodded. “It might get worse.”

“It will get worse. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He smiled despite himself. “Kirisin was doing pretty well with you as his protector. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to replace you.”

She gave him a look. “Does what I think worry you?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t seem like someone who cares what others think,” she pressed, making it sound like she was very sure. “You seem pretty self-sufficient.”

“That’s how it is with Knights of the Word. They work alone. They live alone.” He paused. “Worrying about what others think can get you killed.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “Tell me something about yourself.”

He looked over at her. “Tell you something?”

She nodded. “I told you everything about what happened to me. Tell me about what’s happened to you. About what you’ve been doing that brought you here.”

He was surprised at how eager he was to do so. He started at the very beginning, with his meeting with Two Bears, and then carried forward to his last visit from the Lady. He skipped some of it, the things that she didn’t need to know, the details of his battles, of his private struggles. He kept it simple and straightforward, telling her of the Ghosts and the gypsy morph and what was going to happen. She listened without interrupting him, watching his face, the look so intense he could feel its heat.

When he was finished, she gave him a smile. “If you weren’t standing here, if someone else told me this story, I would think it was just a story and nothing more.”

He smiled back. “I would think the same. If I hadn’t lived it.”

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go, even if Kirisin isn’t sure? Do you know where we will find this boy and all the other children? Angel’s children?”

He thought about it a moment. He didn’t know exactly, but somehow he thought he could find it anyway. Maybe Trim would know the way. But Trim had disappeared. There hadn’t been a sign of him since Logan had first encountered Simralin.

“I can get us to where we need to go. Then it’s up to the boy Hawk.”

Ahead, cottages appeared through the trees. The sun had risen behind them, a hazy orb hanging low in the east, still screened by the forest, its light diffuse and silvery. The predawn silence had given way to a steady rise of birdsong. From somewhere not too far ahead, a dog barked and voices could be heard.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said. “Arissen Belloruus will need to hear what brought you to us. But he will be happy you’ve come.”

They passed through the trees and found a pathway leading to the cluster of houses. The scent of flowers filled the morning air. Logan breathed it in.

“I’m happy you’ve come, too,” Simralin said suddenly.

She said it in a bold, challenging way, as if speaking the words cemented something between them that she understood better than he did. He looked over at her, but she was already striding ahead of him.

“This way,” she called back.

He had an odd thought at that moment, one he hadn’t had since Michael’s death.

He would follow her anywhere.

TWELVE

I
T WAS THREE HOURS AFTER SUNRISE
, the sky a brilliant blue sweep through the tangle of the forest branches, the sun a bright orb hanging low on the eastern horizon, the day smelling of new life and fresh possibilities. Kirisin Belloruus stood on a rise east of the city, just at its edge and deep within the concealment of the forest. He carried the three blue Elfstones and the Loden, all tucked within his pockets, and he was dressed in the clothing he would wear when they made their escape into the mountains. A handful of Elven Hunters stood nearby, armed and ready to leave with him. Another handful of Elven Hunters, all Trackers, had spread out in a screening movement that would detect any enemy approach.

The King and more than a thousand of his Hunters were gathered at the west end of the city, forming a screen between the demon-led army and Arborlon. When the city and its people were encapsulated within the Loden, the Hunters and their King would shift their defenses to protect Kirisin. Retaliation would be quick once the demon leaders got over their initial shock. They might not realize right away that Culph and Tragen were dead and that Kirisin was acting not at their behest but on his own . . . though it wouldn’t take long for them to figure it out. No word had been received of his return, of his capture and subjugation, or of a time or place that the Loden would be used. When the Elves and their city disappeared, there would be an immediate response.

Kirisin knew that he’d better not be anywhere close when that happened. The plan was to make sure he wasn’t.

The boy looked up at the sky and then off into the distance. It was all so surreal that he was having trouble believing it. He still didn’t know for certain that he could use the Loden. He certainly didn’t know how. The Ellcrys had told him nothing, only left him with the impression that when the time came, he would know instinctively. He supposed this was possible. After all, hadn’t he known instinctively how to use the blue Elfstones? Well, after the first time, anyway. Would he need a first time with the Loden? How much time
would
he need? How much would he
get
?

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in response to his uncertainty.
Trust in yourself!
He mouthed the words silently, took a deep, steadying breath, and opened his eyes again. He wished this waiting were over. He wished he were doing something. But he had been told to wait for the King to signal that all was in readiness, that the army was in place and able to protect him.

As if anyone could really protect him. Even Sim.

He peered downward through the trees to the city. Arborlon’s people were awake, but almost none of them understood the enormity of what lay ahead. They had heard about the attack on the High Council and the resulting deaths. They had been told that a meeting of the new members of the High Council had been set for midday today. They knew that no one was to leave the city for any reason until permission had been given. Home Guards were blocking all routes, a protective measure to assure that no one would be caught outside the city and left behind. Almost no one understood what that meant. Aside from new First Minister Ordanna Frae and two other ministers who had survived Tragen’s attack, no one understood much.

They would know soon enough, of course. An announcement of what had been done would be made at a general gathering of the populace, once they were encapsulated inside the Loden. Home Guards would be everywhere when that happened. There would be hysteria. There would be anger and disbelief. There might even be insurrection. No one knew. No one had lived through this. Only a handful had ever even heard of the Loden Elfstone before today, and no one at all knew what life inside the city would be like after it was put to use.

It was new country for all of them.

He thought momentarily of his parents, who would be among those discovering the truth for the first time tonight. They had returned to the city in his absence, unaware of what had happened. Upon their return, Arissen Belloruus immediately placed them under house arrest. It was only last night that Simralin had gone to them, had told them they were free again, that the arrest had been a mistake, that she and Kirisin were well and would see them soon. A small lie? He shook his head. No, a rather large lie. He might never see them again.

But Simralin could not tell their parents the truth any more than he could tell the other Chosen. Secrecy must be maintained. Caution dictated what was permitted and what was forbidden. Mistakes could not be afforded.

Even so, he wished he could have seen his parents one more time before the closing away. He wished he could have explained things for himself instead of relying on Simralin. But he guessed it wasn’t the first or last wish he wouldn’t be granted in this business.

Simralin walked over from where she had been talking with the Knight of the Word and put a strong arm around his shoulder. “Are you all right, Little K?”

He nodded and gave her a smile. She hugged him and stood next to him for a moment, leaving her arm draped over his shoulders possessively. She was trying to reassure him, he knew. He was grateful to her for that, but reassurance came hard just now. There were so many uncertainties, so many doubts that beset him. She would do her best for him; she always did. But in the end, he suspected, it would come down to what he could do for himself.

His eyes shifted to where Logan Tom stood by himself off to one side, leaning on his black staff. There was something about him that bothered Kirisin. He was a lot scarier than Angel, who had always seemed a friend despite her service as a Knight of the Word. Logan Tom didn’t seem like a friend to anyone. Although he didn’t seem like an enemy, either. He just seemed . . . apart. As if he might disappear in a heartbeat, gone back to wherever he had come from.

But the boy knew that this impression was faulty, that Logan Tom would stand and fight. You could see it in his eyes. You could tell from the way he moved and talked—steady, confident, determined. Driven. Simralin had told him a few things about the Knight, things she had somehow discovered while bringing him back to Arborlon after he had come upon her at the site of the hot-air balloon. It was a great deal more than what he suspected Logan Tom would normally have given up to someone little more than a stranger. Stories of how he had gotten to them, of how he had found and rescued the boy who was actually a Faerie creature, a gypsy morph who would save them all from the demons. It was scary stuff, but kind of reassuring, too. Because buried in the details was the unmistakable promise that safety for all of them was not just a dream.

“He’s awfully dark, isn’t he?” he said softly to his sister.

She followed his gaze over to Logan Tom. “He’s a lot of things,” she murmured.

“You think we can trust him?”

“I think maybe we can.” She smiled ruefully. “But I thought that about Tragen, too.”

“That was different.”

“This might be different, too.”

“He looks dangerous.”

“No more so than Angel.”

“Much more so, I think. The kind of dangerous that means he won’t let anything get in his way. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. But maybe he can do what he says he’s come to do.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

She left him a few moments later and walked back over to Logan Tom. The Knight of the Word straightened and turned immediately, his entire demeanor changing. Something about his reaction to his sister reminded Kirisin of Tragen. But that was ridiculous. The two had just met, and besides, Tragen had been pretending. It was just the way men responded to Simralin.

Even so, he watched them for a moment, pondering the idea that men found his sister irresistible. He didn’t. Mostly, he found her smarter than he was. But she was his sister, after all. She was just Sim.

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants and grasped the Elfstones between his fingers, impatient with the wait, looking for something to do. He was still looking when an Elven Hunter burst into the clearing and hurried over to Simralin. She listened for a moment, and then turned to look at her brother. Kirisin felt his breath catch in his throat. He knew at once what she’d been told. He didn’t wait for her to approach. He simply nodded.

It was time.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to relax himself. Then he brought out the Loden Elfstone and stood looking at it as it rested in the palm of his hand. Would it do what he wanted? What would using it feel like? Was he up to this?

He brushed the questions and doubts aside, knowing they did him no good, that they only served to distract him. What he needed was to concentrate. What he needed was to believe. He could do this, he told himself. He could do whatever it took. The Ellcrys had confidence in him, and he must have confidence in himself. He had gone through a trial by fire to get to this moment. Two precious lives had been lost in the process, one belonging to a Faerie creature and one to his cousin. They must not have been lost in vain.

He was aware that everyone was looking at him. No one was saying anything. No one was moving. They were simply watching and waiting. A silence had settled over the surrounding forest, a deep hush that refused to be broken. He could hear himself breathe in that hush, could hear the beating of his heart in his ears.

Do it now.

He closed his fingers over the Loden, feeling his skin mold itself against the Elfstone’s faceted shape. He could feel every knife-edge ridge, every smooth surface, the details forming a picture in his mind. He closed his eyes. He knew what was needed—to imagine what he wanted to see happen, to visualize it as clearly as he could and by doing so bring it to life. That was how the seeking-Elfstones worked. That was how the Loden would work, as well.

He pictured the forest, the city, its people and animals, the Ellcrys and her gardens, everything that stretched around them in a sylvan cradle of life save for the defenders, who were crouched well back in the trees, away from where he would attempt to direct the magic. He envisioned it all, took hold of it, and drew it in. By doing so, he drew himself in, as well. He went down inside, carrying everything he had pictured with him, taking it deeper than he had thought it possible to go. He felt himself sinking, but even though it frightened him at first, his fear quickly gave way to recognition.