Terry Brooks - The Gypsy Morph

Logan nodded. He was packing food and water into a backpack, enough for a week if he was careful with his usage. He knew how to provision for a trek like this, even if he hadn’t been on one for more than a year. He thought he was fit enough, though, and ready.

“But why would you be sent to us and then asked to leave before doing what you came to do? Especially if Hawk is so important to everything. I don’t understand it.”

He looked over at her. “I don’t understand it, either. But it isn’t my place to refuse. If the Lady asks it of me, I am required to comply. It is in the nature of my oath as a Knight of the Word.”

She could tell that his mind was made up, that there was no arguing the point. His sense of duty was too strong to be swayed by anything she might say.

“Hey, Owl, we’ll be all right. We can manage without Mister Knight of His Broken Word.” Panther sounded angry. He practically sneered. “Come and go as he pleases, that’s him. No matter who saved his life, he’s gonna do what he wants to do. We can be damned, for all it matters.”

“Shut up, Panther,” Catalya snapped.

“Yeah, shut up!” Sparrow echoed.

Panther stared at them, then shrugged and walked away. “Do whatever you ladies say,” he called over his shoulder. “You just ask.”

“I’m leaving the AV,” Logan told Owl. He looked around, found Fixit, and tossed him the keys. “You’re in charge. You know best how she works. Take good care of her until I get back.”

Fixit nodded but said nothing.

Hawk walked over. “We know you have to go,” he said. He waited for Logan to look at him. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about us. We can take care of ourselves. We’re together now, and we have Cheney. We’ll be careful.”

“Yeah, don’t be worrying about us!” Panther echoed from twenty feet away.

Logan shoved the last of his supplies into the pack and stood up. “I know I don’t have to worry. But I will anyway.” He glanced again at Owl. “Listen to her advice. She’s the one who will do the best to take care of all of you. Do what she says.”

Hawk gave him a faint grin. “We know that.”

“I’ll be back as quick as I can manage it.”

“Quicker, if it’s possible,” Owl called to him.

She watched him sling the backpack over one shoulder and pick up his black staff. She saw him start to say something and then stop. He shook his head.

All at once Candle came running over to him and threw her arms around his waist. “Come back to us,” she said, her voice so soft that only Owl and Logan heard clearly.

The Knight of the Word put a hand on the little girl’s head and pressed her against him. “I will, Candle.”

He met Owl’s eyes briefly and looked away. Then he disengaged himself from Candle and began walking down the freeway. He took long, steady strides, the tip of his staff clacking softly against the pavement.

Owl and the others watched after him until he was out of sight.

THE DAY IMPROVED with the passing of the hours as the sun brightened, the haze lifted, and the sky cleared. Logan Tom made good progress following the highway south through the foothills, the slopes he was forced to climb gentle enough that they did not wear him down. He knew he hadn’t recovered from the aftereffects of his battle with Krilka Koos; he could feel it in the ache of his muscles and stiffness of his joints. But whatever Hawk had done to bring him out of his coma had also healed the worst of his injuries. Walking helped loosen him up, the blood and adrenaline pumping through him working like a restorative.

He kept a sharp eye out for any sign of danger, but saw nothing. Now and then a bird would wing its way overhead, sometimes more than one, and once he saw what might have been a fox. He couldn’t be sure; he was too far away to make it out clearly. He passed abandoned, rusted–out vehicles and piles of debris. He passed downed trees and limbs, pieces of fence wiring, and old tires and axles, all reminders of what was past, all of it useless. Even after so many years, it made him sad.

In the welter of his sadness, he found himself mulling over what he knew about the direction of things.

The world’s destruction was imminent, its end a certainty. All the terrible things that had happened before were just a prelude to this finishing off, this endgame. When it was over, everything would be changed. What would the world be like then? What shape would it take in the aftermath? Would the people and creatures led to safety by Hawk be all that were left? Would anything else survive, anything outside the protection of the safehold? How long would it be before they could reemerge from hiding?

So many questions, and no answers to be had. He wondered if even the Lady knew how things would turn out. He thought that maybe she knew better than he did, but perhaps not so well as he imagined.

He wondered suddenly if he would live to see any of it, or if he was fated to go the way of the other Knights of the Word. Whatever the case, he had been promised a chance to settle matters with that old man, that demon that had destroyed his family. It would be enough if he were given that. He had always known it would be enough.

Morning crawled toward noon. He was on the freeway bypass, a broader, less cluttered stretch of pavement. Buildings began appearing on either side of him, clusters of residences and businesses, some collapsing, some shuttered and barred, all abandoned. He kept looking for someone who might be his guide, kept looking for Trim, but no one appeared. He assumed that whichever way he went, whatever road he chose, he would be found. Nonetheless, he found himself wondering how long he would have to walk before that happened. He guessed he shouldn’t worry, but he didn’t like the uncertainty of traveling toward an unknown destination.

Toward a city of Elves.

Elves, he thought again, still astonished by the idea.

He shook his head. What would they look like? He remembered fairy creatures from his childhood from stories read to him by his mother. But he couldn’t picture them. They were little people, weren’t they? Tiny and argumentative? But magical, too? He thought about it, trying to remember something more, but couldn’t. It would have to be a surprise.

Like almost everything else in his life.

Just after midday, he crossed a bridge over the Columbia River and entered Oregon. More hills awaited him, and in the distance to the east a huge peak loomed over everything. He kept walking, eyeing fresh clusters of buildings separated by broad stretches of grass and fields withered almost to dust. The landscape spread away like a still life.

A shadow passed over him, causing him to flinch. He looked up in time to see an owl swoop down out of the sunlight and glide into the trees ahead. He stared, surprised. What was an owl doing out in the daylight? What was an owl doing out at all? He hadn’t seen one in years. He had thought them all extinct.

He walked on a little farther and then stepped off the side of the road to sit and eat something before continuing on. There were buildings all around him by now, flat–sided, weather–beaten, and crumbling, but there was no sign of life. The air was heavy and still, and the smells of oil and decay permeated everything. He tried to ignore them as he ate, but it was impossible to do.

He was midway through his meal when he heard a sound behind him and turned to find a girl standing ten feet away. She was maybe fifteen, ragged and dirty, thin to the point of emaciation, her brown hair lank and uncombed. She wore an old coat that hung open over a dress. Both were of indeterminate color, the leavings of some better time and place, the discards of a better world.