The Gypsy Morph (54 page)

Abruptly the Loden flared within the boy’s clenched fist, a blinding glow that spread outward and built in intensity. Logan shielded his eyes. As the glow rose and spread outward, covering the whole of the bluff from end to end and even into the trees beyond, a wind rose with it, come out of nowhere. So powerful was the wind that it nearly knocked the Knight of the Word and the Elves sprawling. As it was, they had to crouch protectively, bracing themselves against its force. Only Kirisin was unaffected, standing at its center as if untouched.

The wind howled like a living thing. It whipped at the light, scattering it in four directions, a giant hand pushing bright water in a pond. Within the light, Logan could see movement. Something was coming alive. He could see the hazy images of buildings and people; he could see the bright scarlet-and-silver canopy of the Ellcrys. The city of the Elves and its inhabitants were reemerging, coming back from their confinement.

Then there was a wrenching of earth and rock, and the entire bluff shuddered with the weight of Arborlon settling into place. Like mist, the light swirled about the Elven city and its people, a hazy curtain slowly being lifted. The wind built to a fever pitch, and the light assumed a liquid appearance. Within the soup, buildings and roadways, gardens and trees, and people and animals assumed a sharper definition. There was an odd sense of two worlds coming together, a blending of the one with the other.

Then the wind diminished, the light faded, and it was finished. Arborlon stood before them, sprawled across the whole of the bluff running back into the trees beyond, looking just as it had when Kirisin had used the Loden to close it away.

A crowd was already starting to gather, Elves coming out from their homes and along the pathways, filling up that piece of the bluff closest to where Kirisin and his companions stood. They were looking around, as if not quite sure where they were or what had happened. Reasonable enough, Logan thought. He stayed in the background, letting Kirisin and his sister step forward to meet those they had left behind. A few hands waved and a few voices called. There was shock on the faces of many and tears in more than a few eyes. Daylight mingled with shadows to streak the whole of the bluff in gold and black layers that gave those assembled the look of exotic creatures.

Then a single figure broke from the crowd, a pinch-faced boy about Kirisin’s age who approached with a wide grin.

“Kirisin!” he greeted, embracing him.

“Biat!” Kirisin replied, and hugged him back.

When they broke apart, the other boy glanced down at the Loden, which his friend was still clutching in a death grip, and declared with a bright laugh, “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

O
N THAT SAME DAY
, at the other end of the valley, Hawk looked out at the setting sun and prepared to say good-bye. He wasn’t at all sure how to go about it. He guessed that when you came right down to it, there wasn’t any good way. But his dream of the King of the Silver River had been sharp and clear, so there wasn’t any point in trying to avoid what was coming. Perhaps he had always known this moment would arrive, even after they had reached their destination and he had hoped his work finished.

The dream only confirmed what he already knew was true.

“
IT IS TIME, YOUNG ONE
.”

The old man speaks the words
gently, but they cut him like a knife. He doesn’t want to hear them, hasn’t wanted even to think of them. The old man stands before him, his seamed and bearded countenance unexpectedly kind, and waits for his response.

“I am ready,” he says. “But I am afraid.”

T
ESSA CAME UP BESIDE HIM
and took his arm, squeezing it. “What are you thinking about?”

“You and me. The baby.” He put his arm around her and pulled her against him. “About how lucky we are.”

She took his hand and put it on her belly, where the first faint swelling had begun. “It won’t be long. I think it will be a boy.”

He started to say something in reply, but his voice caught in his throat. “I have something to do,” he said finally. “Back up in the pass.”

“Right now?”

“It would be better.”

“But it’s almost dark.”

“That won’t matter.”

She looked at him carefully. “Wait until morning. Please?”

He hesitated. “All right,” he agreed.

He waited until it was fully dark and she was asleep, then he rose from their bed and slipped from their shelter. He walked steadily from there, not looking back, trying not to think of what he was leaving. The air was cool and still, and the sky was filled with stars. The way was brightly lit, the path easy to follow. He took time to recall memories of his days with the Ghosts, of their life in the city and then on the road, of each of them in turn, calling up their faces and holding them before him in his mind like pictures from a camera. He wished he could have said good-bye to them, could have told them how much they meant to him, could have tried to convey what he was feeling.

But that would have been so difficult. There was no easy way to say what needed saying. He would have to trust that they would be able to imagine the words he would have said simply by knowing him.

“
THERE IS NO NEED TO BE FRIGHTENED
,
Hawk,” the King of the Silver River says, smiling. “Your magic will protect you. There will be no pain. There will only be peace.”

“What am I to do?”

“You are to go to the head of the pass that brought you into the valley. You will know what to do when you get there.”

He already knows, although he doesn’t say so. He thinks, again, that perhaps he has always known. He has brought his followers to this place of safety, brought them through the wilderness and out of the path of the destruction that is coming. Only one thing remains in order for them to be made secure. Only he can provide it.

“It is because of who you are,” says the old man. “A gypsy morph, a
creature of wild magic, a giver of special gifts. To those you lead, you give the gift of life.”

T
HINKING OF IT NOW
, he hoped that it was true. He needed to believe that it was why he was making this journey. He needed to feel that it mattered in the way he wanted it to.

As he climbed into the mountains from the valley floor, he paused to look back. The starlight was bright enough that he could see to the far horizons. Bits and pieces of the valley floor were visible, as well. From the camp he had departed, a few lights glowed in the darkness. Not everyone was sleeping. He experienced a sudden urge to turn back, to return to what he so badly wanted to hold on to. But the urge came and went, and he began to climb once more.

When he reached the head of the pass, he stopped to collect himself. He was visibly shaking by now, and his fear of what was going to happen was almost overwhelming. He replayed in his mind the words of the King of the Silver River, reassuring himself that the old man would not have lied. He reminded himself of his origins, of the power that was given him at birth, of the magic that had served him so well. It would not fail him now, he told himself. Nor would he fail in his duty.

It
was
a duty, after all. It sounded strange to say so, but it was what he had been given to do. To keep them protected. To keep them safe. Those he had brought to this place, friends and family and strangers alike. They were his responsibility, and he must embrace that responsibility as a soldier would his duty.

Still.

He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered Tessa’s name.

“
HOW CAN I JUST LEAVE THEM?
”
he asks the old man. “My wife and child, my friends, all those who care about me?”

The King of the Silver River places a hand on his shoulder. “You won’t be leaving them forever. Only for a little while.”

Hawk does not know what he means, but he is not reassured. Leaving them at all seems wrong. He thinks that this is unfair, to require him to do this after he has already done so much. He did not ask for this responsibility. He did not ask to have his life directed so. All he has ever wanted is a family, and now it is to be taken away from him. How can anyone make such a sacrifice?

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he says.

“I don’t know that, either,” the old man agrees. “Yet you must.”

H
E LOOKED WESTWARD
then across the vast reaches of the empty, barren land the caravan crossed in coming here, and was reminded anew what the rest of the world was like. In that moment he was reminded, as well, of the dark and twisted place the world would become in the aftermath of the approaching destruction. He could not allow this valley, this newly found haven, and all those he had brought here to live, to fall under that shadow. He could not permit such a monstrous subversion.

But he would be doing so if he failed to act now, as the King of the Silver River had told him he must.

There was no point in waiting any longer.

He took a moment to calm himself, breathing in the night air and staring upward at the stars. He was standing at the highest point of the pass, directly at its center. From this vista, he could see the mountains that ringed the valley, the valley itself, and everything that lay within its vast cradle. Even though the details were hidden by the darkness, he could see them in his mind.

He knelt and placed his hands against the earth.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the magic began to build within him as the familiar sensations began to surface. He took his time letting it do so, giving it space and freedom to find the necessary level of intensity. He knew what was needed, but not what it would take. He could only assume that the magic he wielded was sufficient and the price it would demand bearable. He knelt with his eyes closed and his head bent, with his arms braced in rigid support, his back bowed, a supplicant seeking relief.

It took a long time for the magic within to fuse with the magic without. When it did, he felt himself begin to join with the earth; felt the elements that composed its body and the life that it sustained to find a home in him. In the smells and tastes and sounds and feel of the world, he found himself made whole, all his separate parts become one. He was the world, and the world was in him.

It was the strangest feeling.

It made him smile.

Then the ground heaved beneath him, and dozens of tiny vents opened from deep underground. A fine gray mist rose into the night, layering the cool air. An opaque curtain rose and spread, winding outward in a vast spiral, filling up the open space with layered shrouds that draped the darkness, one on top of the other. From the place where Hawk knelt, the mist began to infiltrate the trees and rocks and then the mountains themselves. It gained speed and height and thickness, a silent storm front wrapping about, running north and south for miles before bending east and closing the haven that sheltered his followers like a giant’s hands about a cup.

The mountains and the valley they cradled disappeared. Rocks, trees, cliffs, grasses, streams, and rivers—all that encompassed the perimeter of the peaks and their protected valley—slowly faded away.

Hawk’s strength was drained from him as his gypsy morph magic was steadily, implacably leached away.

I am so tired,
he thought near the end.

Then the mist swallowed him.

W
HEN THE RESIDENTS OF THE CAMP
that housed the children and their protectors woke the following morning, they noticed the difference in their world right away. The light was altered, although no one was able to agree in what way. The sky was clear and cloudless, a day like any other except that it wasn’t. There were changes in the texture of the air, in the slant of the sunlight, in the way that shadows fell and sounds reverberated.

There was a wall of mist that had settled into the mountains on all sides, thick and impenetrable, miles of it, encircling the whole of the valley.

Tessa stood beside Owl in the company of Sparrow, River, and Candle, staring at the mountains and waiting for Angel to return. It was nearing midday, and the Knight of the Word had been gone since early morning. She had left as soon as she had discovered the strange transformations, gone out into the mountains to discover its source. Others had wanted to go with her, but she had insisted that it would be safer for everyone if she went alone. So there had been nothing left for any of them to do but to wait for her return.

Tessa had waited with the others, although she already knew what had happened. Hawk had left during the night and climbed back up into the mountain pass as he had told her he must. He had done something with the magic, used it in the way that was meant to make them all safe.

Just as he had done when he had driven the rogue militia from the bridge and the demon army from the plains.

With one important difference. He had used the magic for the last time. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

She could barely keep her tears in check when Angel finally reappeared and walked toward them. She was prepared for what she was going to hear but unable to imagine living with what it meant. She had struggled all day to keep from breaking down completely, and several times had gone off alone to cry. Owl must have known, perhaps the others, as well, but no one had said anything.

Angel trudged up to them, her face reflecting frustration. “I couldn’t find anything of the source,” she said. “But something’s certainly happened. That mist is impenetrable. No matter how often you go in, you come out again right where you started. As far as I can tell, it wraps around the entire valley. I tried everything to get through it. I even used the Word’s magic. Nothing worked.”

She looked from face to face, stopping finally with Owl. “It was Hawk who did this, wasn’t it?”

Owl nodded. “Tessa told me that he said yesterday he was going back up into the pass to do something. She made him promise to wait until morning, but he went up sometime during the night.”