The Gypsy Morph (5 page)

I
T TOOK KIRISIN AND SIMRALIN
almost four hours of hiking interspersed with frequent rest stops to carry Angel Perez back down the slopes of Syrring Rise to the meadow where they had left the hot-air balloon. Their trek was lengthened by the need to take a circuitous route in order to avoid the rougher terrain. By the time they reached the edge of the ice fields and stepped off the glacier onto visible ground, it was already midmorning. When they came in sight of the balloon, the sun was directly overhead and midday was approaching.

The day started out bright and clear, but as the hours wore on it turned hazy and the sky began to fill with clouds. A storm was forming over the mountain, and they had to get away before it struck or they would be trapped another night. Simralin pushed hard to keep Kirisin moving, even after he told her that he didn’t think he could go any farther. He surprised himself by putting aside any thought for his own discomfort and responding to his sister’s urgings and his own sense of duty to the injured Knight of the Word.

If Erisha were there, he comforted himself, she might even tell him he was finally growing up.

Angel, for her part, slept the entire way, drugged by the sleeping potion Simralin had prepared and trickled through her lips and down her throat, a powerful medicine meant to keep her unconscious until well into the following day. It might have been dangerous to give her such a strong potion, but Kirisin understood that it would be more dangerous still to have her awake and struggling to change their minds about not taking her with them. However determined she was, however well intentioned, she was not capable of helping them in what they had to do. He understood how she felt about carrying out the mission given to her by the Word, of fulfilling her duty as one of its Knights, but that alone was not enough to see her through what lay ahead. Simralin was right: Angel had to stay behind.

Once they arrived at the meadow, they lay Angel down on a soft patch of grass and went to work on enabling the balloon. No one had disturbed its various parts, and within a short time they had the blower operating and the bag filling with hot air. Simralin worked to secure all the stays and ties while Kirisin monitored the blower. The meadow and its surroundings remained otherwise empty and quiet, but the sky overhead continued to darken. It seemed odd to watch a storm develop; it had been years since weather this threatening had come to the mountains of the Cintra. A little rain now and then, but nothing like this. Still, Syrring Rise was special, and the work of the Elven caretakers on the forests and plants had created a climate peculiar to the mountain. Kirisin found himself wondering what it would be like to live and work here, to be one of the caretakers rather than a Chosen. Here the challenges were greater and the skills needed to keep the mountain free of disease and poison more demanding. Kirisin knew he was good at healing and possessed both learned and innate understanding of the ways in which he could protect the native vegetation. Working here on the slopes of Syrring Rise would be a thoroughly satisfying experience.

Though now, it seemed, he would never have a chance to find out, since the Elves would be leaving the mountain and the world of Syrring Rise was ending.

How much of that world, he wondered, would survive in the aftermath of the predicted destruction?

He thought about that as he worked, about how it would be for the Elves once they were no longer living in the Cintra—or perhaps anywhere else that they knew about or could even imagine. The new world might be entirely foreign to them. He wondered how life would change when the disaster foretold by the Ellcrys came to pass. He didn’t bother using the word
if
in reference to the prediction. He accepted the inevitability of the world’s passing in the same way he had come to accept everything else the tree had told him. The presence of demons among the Elves had convinced him that a new way of looking at things was necessary. The deaths of Ailie and Erisha had only reinforced that conviction, providing sharp reminders that the life he had once taken for granted was coming to a close. This period in the history of the Elves was over, as much so as that long-ago time when magic had ceased to be a part of their lives and humans had become the dominant species. No Elf wanted to think this way, least of all Kirisin, who still wanted to believe that the Elves, as the first people, would one day regain their elevated position in the order of things.

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.

I
T 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.