But in the world of the present, the world of demons and once-men and things so terrible that they belonged in the darkest of nightmares, no one species or race or civilization mattered more than another. What happened to one would ultimately happen to all, and no amount of healing skill or Elfstone magic or wishful thinking would change this.
“Little K,” Simralin snapped, interrupting his ruminations. “The storm is coming. We need to leave. Help me with Angel.”
Together they lifted the unconscious Knight of the Word into the basket and settled her comfortably, her body braced with packing, strapped in place, and wrapped in several cloaks so that she would be stable and warm for the flight. Loading their packs and what remained of their supplies, they released the anchors that secured the balloon and lifted off.
This time, Simralin took them east over the mountains, tacking on the prevailing winds that blew through the craggy peaks, angling the balloon this way and that to carry them across. Kirisin stayed out of the way and watched Syrring Rise slowly shrink against the darkening horizon. The storm clouds were coming down from the north in heavy banks, more weather than he had seen in a long time, and soon the entire peak was enveloped.
Gone, as if it had never existed. As if it were lost to all of them forever.
He didn’t like thinking that way, didn’t like imagining anything gone forever. Yet that was what was going to happen. That was the future.
He turned away and watched his sister maneuver the balloon, directing bursts of hot air into the bag and vents, opening and closing flaps to change direction, pausing every so often to study their movement and gauge the thrust of the wind. It was tricky business, but she seemed at ease with it. He was struck by how steady and assured she was in her handling of the balloon, how confident in the making of her choices. He admired Sim greatly, his big sister, beautiful and clever and skilled at so many things. He wished he were that way, but he knew he wasn’t. He was a Chosen, and that gave him what status he enjoyed among the Elves, but he would never be as accomplished as Simralin.
The best he could do with his life was to see that he did not fail the Ellcrys in the charge she had given him. He thought for the first time since gaining possession of the Loden what that meant. By using the Elfstone magic, he would be taking responsibility for the tree, his city, and the Elven people. Their safety and security would become his responsibility until they got to wherever it was they were supposed to go. Others would help him, his sister included. But in the end, as both the Ellcrys and the shade of Pancea Rolt Gotrin had warned, he would be alone in this. The burden and the consequences of how well he bore it were his. His measure would be taken in the days ahead, and he was terrified—thinking of it here and now, suspended in a basket hundreds of feet in the air—that like the air filling this balloon, his own efforts might leak away and he would fall short.
They flew on through the afternoon, riding on the back of the leeward winds down the spine of the mountain chain, sailing over the canyons and flats, the land beneath them become stark and barren once more. Gone were the green meadows of Syrring Rise, gone the fresh smell and taste of the air. Here the air was bitter and fouled, and the earth a lifeless landscape of dirt and rocks. Now and then Kirisin caught sight of movement, but it was always brief and he could never identify its source.
They ate midway through their flight, consuming a little of their dwindling supplies and water as they monitored the balloon’s progress, Kirisin taking his turn at helping when Simralin needed a rest. He found that he could understand a little of why the balloon responded as it did and what was needed to keep it on course.
At one point, Simralin reached out and squeezed his arm. “I think you’ll make a balloon pilot yet, Little K. You’ve got the nose for it.”
He grinned his appreciation of her compliment, but could not help thinking that flying hot-air balloons would not matter to either of them much longer.
Wondering, at the same time, what would.
IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON when they reached the banks of Redonnelin Deep and began tacking upriver toward their destination.
“Is that a good idea, Sim?” Kirisin asked when he heard what she had planned for Angel.
“Taking her to Larkin Quill? Of course it’s a good idea.” She waved him off dismissively; her eyes were fixed on the landscape below, watching the slow passing of the river and its confining banks. She took a moment to glance northward in the direction from which they had come. “Storm looks to be coming down this way. It’s not staying on the mountains like it should. Odd.”
“But he’s blind!” Kirisin persisted. “You said yourself that she needed someone with special healing skills if she was to be helped!”
His sister gave him a sharp look. “You don’t think Larkin knows something about healing? After living out here on his own all these years? He knows more than most about how to cure your ills and mend your wounds. He will know just what Angel needs and he will be able to provide it. Don’t underestimate him, Little K.”
Kirisin nodded. “I just don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“It won’t. Larkin is a skilled healer, but he is also one of the few people we can trust. If we take Angel back to the Cintra, we risk giving her over to the King. Here she’ll be safe from whatever happens back there. Larkin will tell her where we’ve gone and what we’re doing. If we succeed, we can come back for her. If we don’t, maybe she can come for us. Take hold of this line. I don’t like what these winds are doing to us. We have to set down.”
They worked together to land the balloon on flats not too far upriver but on the opposite bank from where Larkin Quill kept his cottage. It took both of them to navigate the tricky winds that blew down the river channel, but in the end they succeeded in landing the basket safely and with only a slight bump as it tipped sideways. Simralin leapt out at once and began gathering in the deflated balloon while Kirisin struggled to anchor the basket so that it would not drag farther.
It was almost dark by the time they finished. After they had hauled the basket and the equipment back into a stand of trees and carried Angel to an overhang of rocks that jutted out from the cliff face, Simralin extracted a strange flute-like object, placed it to her lips, and blew hard. The sound was high and piercing, and Kirisin winced despite himself.
“Larkin will come at dawn and take Angel back with him,” she told him, returning to sit beside him in the gathering dark. “It would have been better to put down on the south bank, but too risky with the storm coming in and the winds blowing so hard.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled and lightning flashed against the northern horizon. The storm was gathering strength and moving closer, clouds rolling out of the darkness in massive banks.
“I can’t remember the last time we had a storm with thunder and lightning,” Kirisin said quietly. “Do you think it will rain hard?”
His sister nodded. “I do.”
“Maybe it means something,” he murmured.
“Maybe it means we will be getting wet before this night’s over. Better keep your cloak close at hand, Little K.”
They were silent for a time, listening to the peals of thunder, blinking against the sharp flashes of lightning, waiting for the storm to reach them. Kirisin realized all at once how sleepy he was and then remembered that there hadn’t been much time for sleep in almost two days.
“Angel will be furious when she finds out we’ve left her behind,” he said.
“Angel might be furious, but she will also be alive.” His sister gave a small sigh. “I don’t like leaving her, either. She’s a lot better equipped than we are to fight off what we are likely to come up against. But not like she is. She has to be well enough to stand on her own first. And we can’t wait on that. We can’t wait on anything if we’re going to help our people. We just don’t have a choice.”
“I know,” he said.
The rain began to fall, a steady downpour that quickly turned into a deluge. They huddled
back against the cliff, doing what they could to stay dry. Everything more than ten feet away disappeared in shimmering wet curtains of water, swallowed as if it had vanished entirely. It was an unsettling feeling. Kirisin wondered what would happen if the river rose another foot or two, but decided the chances of that were small. Even a storm as strong as this one shouldn’t be able to swell the river that much. Redonnelin Deep had been ten feet higher twenty years ago, he had been told. But the weather patterns had changed, and rain was a rarity these days, even here in the northwest part of the country, where it had always rained regularly in the past.
“How are we going to do this, Sim?” Kirisin asked her suddenly.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything. It was so dark by now that he could barely make out her face. “I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Will they even give us a chance to tell them what might happen? Will they listen to anything we have to say?”
“Kirisin, I don’t know,” she repeated. She glanced over, and in a sudden flash of lightning he saw anger on her bruised face. “You have to find a way to make them listen, Little K. That’s what’s expected of you. That’s what you’ve been given to do. You have to figure out a way to do it!”
He was surprised at her vehemence, and he went silent immediately in response, hunkering down farther into his cloak to ward off the harshness of her words as much as the chill and the damp. He wished he hadn’t asked the question, that he had kept quiet about the whole business. She was right, after all. It was his charge to fulfill and his responsibility to figure how to carry it out. She had come with him on this journey out of love and loyalty, his big sister looking out for him. She had nearly died because of him back in the ice caves on Syrring Rise. Ultimately, she had saved his life. He had no right to expect anything more from her, no right to ask it.
He was embarrassed and ashamed that he had.
Nevertheless, after a long silence, she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. This isn’t your charge alone anymore. It’s mine, too. I accepted that when I decided to go with you in search of the Loden. I just get so frustrated about things. I know I don’t show it much. My Tracker training, I guess. I keep everything inside. I let it get away from me this time, and I shouldn’t have.”
“I shouldn’t be asking you to solve my problems,” he responded quickly. “You were right. I am the one who has to figure out how to make everyone believe. I am the one asking for their trust. So I have to demonstrate that I deserve it. You can’t do that for me.”
She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “But I don’t have to make a big point of it, do I? What you need to hear is that I intend to stand with you no matter what.”
He grinned. “I never thought you would do anything else.”
He reached out to her and hugged her through the rain, feeling the reassuring comfort in her strong arms as they embraced him back. For just a moment, he could believe that no matter what obstacles they might face, they would be able to overcome them.
“Go to sleep,” she told him, breaking away. “I’ll keep watch.”
He was too tired to argue the matter, his eyes already drooping, his body stiff and aching. “Wake me so you can sleep, too,” he said.
But even as he hunkered down to shield himself against the weather, he knew that she wouldn’t.
HE WOKE TO FIND LARKIN QUILL standing over him. Even from the back—for he was turned away—the cloaked form of the ex-Tracker was instantly recognizable. He was facing toward Simralin, who was busy strapping a still-unconscious Angel to a wooden frame that cradled her body on a broad piece of tightly stretched canvas. Kirisin raised himself to a sitting position, noting as he did so that the day was bright and sunny and all but devoid of evidence of the previous night’s storm. Save for a few puddles and damp spots on the otherwise dry ground, there was nothing to indicate the deluge had ever happened.
“Wake up, wake up, Kirisin Belloruus,” Larkin Quill intoned. He turned his head slightly. “Awake, maybe you can be of some use.”
Kirisin rubbed his eyes and stretched. “Sim was supposed to wake me. She let me sleep.”
“Yes, it is all her fault, no question. She’s like that, Simralin is, always thinking only of herself. So selfish.” He was grinning as he gestured toward the river, swift flowing and choppy in the wake of the downpour. “But now that you’ve made it back from the land of dreams all on your own, I need to be going my way, as well. Would you help me carry our wounded Angel down to the boat so I can ferry her back across?”
Kirisin rose, and together they bore Angel Perez along the banks of Redonnelin Deep to where the ex-Tracker’s boat was beached and tied off. As before, Larkin Quill was sure-footed and steady, seemingly able to see as well as the boy. Simralin came, too, lending an extra hand while they loaded Angel aboard and settled her on a long bench at the stern where the stretcher could be secured.
“I have a ramp at my dock that will allow me to drag off the stretcher when we get to where we’re going. I’ve had to do this before when I wasn’t ready for it, so this time I came prepared.”
“Can you help her?” Kirisin asked.
The older man grinned. “Oh, I think so. She’s banged up pretty good, but she’s already healing at the breaks and cracks. Some of that Knight of the Word magic, I imagine. I’ll be able to help her mend faster still with a little magic of my own, the kind that relies on potions and poultices and sleep. A week or so, she’ll be back to fighting form.”
“That’s awfully fast,” Kirisin said doubtfully.
Larkin said nothing.
“She won’t be easy to keep down even that long,” Simralin declared. “She’ll want to be up and on her way.”
Larkin Quill shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I can manage her. You have the harder task, I’d guess.”
“We’ll do what we have to,” Kirisin declared bravely. “We won’t let anything stop us.”
Larkin grinned anew. “Well said, young man. Still, be careful how you go. Especially with the King. He’s not to be trusted, whether he is Elf or demon. You’ll need the Council’s support to keep him in line. A few are worth enlisting to your cause. Ordanna Frae’s a good man; he will see that you have your say. Maybe more than that, if you’re lucky. You can trust Maurin Ortish, too, even if he isn’t a member of the Council. The Home Guard lives for him as much as for the King, though I would never say it to his face. The rest you should not put your faith in.”
He walked over to Simralin and embraced her. “You were always the best of the lot, you know. The best of the Trackers I knew. The others were good—skilled and brave. But you were the smart one, the clever one, the one who always knew how to make the right decision.” He turned toward Kirisin. “If anyone can see you through this, your sister will. Pay attention to her.”
“I know enough to do that,” the boy answered. “I won’t take foolish chances.”
“I think that might be so.” Larkin Quill’s smile dropped away. “One last thing. The King’s Hunters. They haven’t come here yet, which is troublesome. They should be looking for you everywhere by now, and especially here. They know we were friends, Simralin, and a handful, at least, know how to find me. But no one has come. It may be that they know something none of us does. So watch yourselves. Keep your presence hidden from them for as long as you can and then choose wisely a time and place to reveal yourselves.”
He turned away, put one hand on the gunwale of his boat, and vaulted aboard effortlessly. “Not so old, you see?” he offered, turning back to them. “But I could use a push off the rocks.”
Simralin obliged, putting her shoulder against the bow and shoving until the boat slid free. Larkin Quill was already at the helm, the sails raised and billowing with the fresh breeze. “I’ll see you on the new wind,” he called back to them as he leaned into the rudder and the boat began to turn away.
“Good-bye, Larkin,” Simralin shouted.
Kirisin called out to h
im, as well, something about seeing him again soon. But he could not shake the feeling that they were all wishing for something that would never happen.
FIVE
S IMRALIN WAITED until the boat carrying Larkin Quill and Angel Perez was well out on the water and heading for the far shore before turning to the task of reinflating the hot-air balloon so that Kirisin and she could set out for the Cintra. Kirisin, who had been cleaning up the campsite, packing away their foodstuffs and supplies, was glad to begin preparations for setting out. Movement helped ease his discomfort with leaving Angel behind, focusing his thoughts to the particulars of what was needed to get under way.
It took them less than an hour to set up the balloon, fill the bag, load their supplies, and cast off. The day remained bright and welcoming as they lifted into the sky, empty of clouds and filled with sunshine. Kirisin glanced down several times to see if he could spy Larkin Quill’s boat, but it had disappeared somewhere along the far bank, back in the heavy trees and the inlets, safely out of sight.
Good luck, Angel, he mouthed silently.
He glanced over to see Simralin watching him, and he blushed despite himself.
They sailed across Redonnelin Deep and the beginning of the Cintra Mountains, reaching the northern edge of the chain by midday. Kirisin expected them to continue on immediately, but Simralin told him they were taking the balloon down again and anchoring where they were until dark.
“Can’t risk traveling farther south in the daylight,” she said as they worked together to leak the air from the bag and land the balloon in a meadow at the foot of the mountains. “We’re too easy to spot up there against the sky. They might not know who we are, but they will be quick to want to find out. They can track our silhouette and be waiting when we land. At night, we won’t be so visible.”