The Gypsy Morph

by Terry Brooks

  She spoke briefly with Hawk, who was back in the lead, walking with a handful of his family members. She tried talking to him about their destination, to find out once again if he had any idea of how much farther they had to go. But the boy simply shook his head and said he didn’t know, and the other Ghosts closed about him protectively. When it was apparent that no one wanted her there, she let the matter drop and moved away.

  She traveled alone for a time after that, lost in thoughts of expectations, good and bad. She had been plagued by a sense of foreboding since rising and setting out. She should not have felt that way; in fact, she should have felt renewed confidence following the destruction of the demon. The children were safe again, and the caravan was moving forward. But for reasons she could not explain, her mood was dark and uneasy.

  Eventually, Kirisin Belloruus joined her and reiterated his growing concern over his missing sister. Even though a handful of Elves who had escaped the massacre in the Cintra had found their way to the caravan, his sister was not among them. Angel understood. She was worried about Simralin, as well, not to mention the absent and long-overdue Logan Tom. Like the Elven Tracker, he should have been back before this. It was a difficult situation, having both of them missing at the same time and not knowing where to look for either. Nevertheless, Angel promised the boy that a new set of scouts would be dispatched to see if any sign could be found.

  “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with Hawk and the Ghosts?” she asked him after a while. “When I tried to talk to them earlier this morning, they made it clear they wanted me to go somewhere else.”

  “The halfling, Catalya, disappeared during the night, and Panther went after her,” he said. “The others didn’t want him to go. They tried to talk him out of it, but he went anyway. I think they are afraid they won’t see him again.”

  She sighed wearily. “Ay Dios mío.” Her mood darkened further. “Well, I’ll ask the scouts to look out for them, too.”

  “I wish we could just get to wherever it is we’re going,” the boy muttered.

  Angel nodded but didn’t say anything more.

  The morning slipped away, and it was nearing midday when they sighted the dam.

  They saw it first as what appeared to be a cluster of dilapidated buildings and collapsed power lines settled within a depression. But as they drew nearer, they saw the smooth curve of a massive concrete wall spanning a deep gorge, and recognized it for what it was: an enormous structure built to hold in check the waters of what was, if the maps could be trusted, the north–south branch of the Columbia River. It appeared that the gates had been locked in place for a long time. Even a cursory glance revealed that the waters above the dam were perhaps two hundred feet higher than those below.

  The caravan slowed as it came up on the banks of the gorge, and Angel found Helen Rice and had the bulk of the vehicles and all of the children kept well back while they went forward to decide what to do next. Then she gathered with Helen and the Ghosts on a high embankment and peered down at the dam and the gorge. This close, Angel could see cracks in the dam’s smooth wall, spiderwebs across the whole of its curved surface. Water was leaking through some of the larger splits. The leakage appeared to be steady and had dozens of sources, all of them feeding the waters below the dam wall. Mounds of debris lay clustered along the banks of the gorge, including abandoned cars, pieces of sheet metal, and old appliances, all of it turned to rust.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s come this way in a while,” Helen said quietly. She glanced at Hawk. “Do we have to cross this?”

  Hawk nodded without hesitating. “Yes.”

  Helen rolled her eyes at Angel. “I’m sending AVs in both directions to see if there’s a bridge somewhere.”

  She turned and walked away. Angel stayed where she was, already considering alternatives. The top of the dam wall was clustered with housings for machinery and controls and iron railings, not all of them still in one piece. As well, the flat surface tilted at odd intervals, forming ramps and chutes. While the members of the caravan could probably make their way across, if they were careful and passed in single file, it was too narrow for vehicles. Even so, she was doubtful. She didn’t like the look of the cracks in the concrete wall. The dam looked weathered and old and unsafe, even if it was still holding back all that water.

  “Maybe we could build rafts and float the caravan across,” said Helen, coming up beside her once more.

  Angel looked around at the barren sweep of the hills and cocked one eyebrow at her. “Out of what? Trash and deadwood?”

  They were silent then for a few minutes, all of them staring at the broad span of the gorge, mulling over the problem of crossing. Angel brushed at her short-cropped hair and thought how long it had been since she had washed it. Washed any part of the rest of her, for that matter. Days. She didn’t like how it made her feel, thinking of it. She didn’t care that the others were every bit as ragged and dirty as she was. She wanted to feel clean again.

  She shook her head. Well, there was no help for it. She glanced at the gorge and the dam once more. Maybe there was no help for anything.

  “Let’s give everyone something to eat,” Helen suggested.

  Angel nodded her agreement. “Go ahead. I want to have a closer look at that dam.”

  She left the others and walked along the embankment to where steps led down to a catwalk that opened out onto the top of the wall and the buildings beyond. She stood at the top of the steps and studied the structure. She didn’t know anything about dams, so she didn’t have any idea what she should be looking for, but she looked anyway.

  Waste of time, she thought.

  She looked beyond the dam wall to the waters trapped behind it. The river was thick with deadwood, and an ugly slick covered its surface where it brushed against the concrete. She wrinkled her nose. She wouldn’t want to wash herself in that. She was still studying the morass when Kirisin appeared unexpectedly at her elbow. Wordlessly, he pointed skyward. When she looked, she saw a pair of winged creatures circling the caravan.

  “Skrails,” she said at once, a dark sense of inevitability sweeping through her.

  “Candle sensed their presence even before we saw them,” the boy said. “There were more in the beginning, but some flew away south.”

  “To warn the others. They must be close.” She tightened her grip on the black staff. “They’ll be coming for us.”

  “Helen Rice said to tell you she’s getting the children and their protectors ready to cross the dam if the scouts don’t find a bridge. She said we’ll pack what we can carry on our backs and leave the rest. Even the vehicles.”

  It was an unpleasant prospect for more reasons than Angel cared to consider, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She gave him a brief smile. “I’m not sure. Come along. We’ll find out together.”

  They descended the steps, stepped onto the dam wall, and walked out to the cluster of machinery housings. The doors were locked, but she was able to use her staff to burn away the locks. Inside, it was dark and close and thick with cobwebs and dust. The machinery consisted of banks of consoles that had long ago ceased to function, even with the aid of solar panels. The turbines that had fed water-generated electricity to the cities were silent, as dead as the cities themselves. Stairs led down into rooms embedded in the dam wall where it adjoined the gorge embankment, and here they found a series of huge wheels and connecting gears that probably allowed for the gates of the dam to be opened. But the wheels were locked in place by rust and time and perhaps by mechanical means that neither could comprehend.

  Nothing here that will help, she thought.

  With Kirisin in tow, she walked back out into the sunshine. Hawk was still meandering along the upper embankment, stopping every so often to kneel and feel the ground. His concentration was so intense that he didn’t even notice them. She watched him for a moment, Kirisin beside her.

  “What is
he doing?” the boy asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “He seems to be searching for something. What would he be looking for up there?”

  Hawk dropped suddenly to his knees, both hands on the ground, head bent forward, eyes closed as if he were stricken physically. He stayed where he was for long moments, unmoving. Then he straightened, climbed slowly to his feet, and stood gazing south.

  “Let’s go find something to eat,” Angel said, turning away.

  She had rejoined Helen Rice and the others, collected a plate of food, taken her first bites, and was just thinking that things might work out despite the odds when the scouts Helen had sent north and south along the Columbia drove in, one right after the other. Those who had driven north reported that the only bridge they had found was collapsed into the river. The southern patrol had gotten less than ten miles before encountering the forward elements of the demon army, moving toward them at a rapid pace.

  Helen was on her feet at once. “Get the children together. We’re crossing the river right now.”

  FARTHER TO THE WEST, deep in foothills swept clean of all but the hardiest scrub by the dust storm of the previous day, Logan Tom was nursing the Ventra 5000 along with a mother’s gentle touch. The big AV, having survived the dust storm with its moving parts intact, was on its last legs. Logan and Simralin had started out the day with the expectation of catching up to the caravan by nightfall. Buried under almost three feet of sand and dust, they had dug their way clear at sunrise, with the storm gone past and the air clear once more, and set out. At first, everything had seemed fine, but then Logan had noticed that the indicator lights on the dash were showing no power flowing from the solar panels to the cells, and the cells were almost empty. He stopped long enough to confirm that the panels were both cracked—either by windblown debris or heat—neither panel repairable, and used the spares to replace them. But the indicator lights still showed no exchange between the fresh panels and solar receptors, and he was forced to admit that the problem was more complicated.

  Electing to go on rather than waste any more time, leaving to chance the actual amount of time the residual power stored in the cells would give them, he concentrated on conserving what was there by running the engine on low and choosing the flattest route available. If the engine died, he would have to make a choice about what to do next. He was hoping he would not have to face that choice.

  “Any idea where we are?” Simralin asked after a long silence between them.

  “Some. We’re not too far from the north–south branch of the Columbia River. The caravan has to cross there, probably at one of the dams or a bridge, if there’s still one in place.”

  “Unless they’ve changed direction,” she pointed out.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think they’re headed for the mountains.” He pointed east across the flats. “You can’t see them from here, but they’re out there, over the horizon. I crossed them coming west weeks ago.”

  “I know those mountains,” she said.

  He nodded. “Well, somewhere in there is where we’ll find this safe-hold Hawk is searching for. That’s my opinion, anyway.”

  As if in response, the Ventra engine coughed and died, the vehicle lurched, and they rolled to a stop. Logan sat staring at the controls, as if an answer might present itself amid the vast array of colored lights and blinking switches.

  “What’s your opinion about that?” Simralin asked archly.

  Without answering, he adjusted a few of the switches and dials, made several concerted efforts to restart the engine, and finally sat back. “My opinion is she’s finished. Either I go to work on the wiring or we walk.”

  “Which will take longer?”

  He glanced over. “Hard to say.”

  “Then let’s walk.”

  He nodded. “At least we’ll be moving.”

  They loaded up on food and water, sleeping gear and weapons, and set out. The day was warm and still, but not unreasonably so, and travel even at midday was pleasant enough. Logan hated leaving the big AV, a machine that up until now had provided both reliable transportation and protection. But he had known all along that he would probably have to abandon it at some point. What mattered just now was catching up to the caravan and reuniting with Hawk, the boy he was supposed to be protecting.

  He grimaced inwardly. Not that he had done much of a job of it so far. He had failed to prevent Hawk from being thrown from the walls of the compound in Seattle, and it was the boy who had saved his life while he lay unconscious following his battle with the rogue Knight of the Word. Immediately afterward, Logan had been dispatched by the Lady to find the Elves and bring Kirisin Belloruus to safety, which once again had separated him from Hawk. Reaching the caravan and finding the boy anew, he had elected to stay behind to help defend the bridge against the demon army, and again they had become separated.

  After all the emphasis placed by Two Bears and the Lady on the importance of finding and protecting the gypsy morph, he had expected to expend considerable effort doing so. But when you took the measure of the thing, he had done hardly anything at all. It disturbed him to admit this more than he cared to think about. He did not like it that the charge he had accepted had come to so little. Finding the boy had not been difficult; protecting him had been all but impossible.

  It wasn’t his place to question the things he was asked to do as a Knight of the Word. It wasn’t given to him to judge. But he did so anyway. He always had. It was what had led him to this place and time. When offered the chance to do so, he had abandoned his life as a destroyer of the slave camps and their demon masters, worn down by the struggle, weary of the fight, eager to travel a new road. Searching out the gypsy morph was the price of the bargain. Find the morph and protect it, O’olish Amaneh had asked of him. Do this, and you will have your chance to face that old man who killed your family, the Lady had promised.

  He had agreed in a heartbeat.

  But why had they even bothered asking him? What was it that they expected him to do when for virtually the entire time since he had found the morph they had been separated?

  There were no answers to be found, and no point in thinking on it further. He kicked at the earth with one boot, a pointed response to his frustration, and let the matter drop. One day, somewhere down the road, he might better understand what he was doing in this business, what his role was really supposed to be. For now, he would have to accept on faith that he had a purpose to fulfill, whether he saw it clearly or not.

  They had walked less than ten miles when Simralin said, “Do you hear something?”

  He stopped and listened. “Weapons fire, shouting. There’s a battle being fought, just ahead.”

  They continued walking, faster now, their efforts more directed. Logan felt a clutch of fear in his chest at the prospect of what they would find. He had been afraid for some time that he might catch up to the caravan too late, that he might return only to bear witness to its destruction. He had lived in silence with that fear, refusing to admit to it. But now it was full-blown and pressing down on him on like a great weight.

  Clouds of dust began to fill the air ahead of them, billowing up from the parched earth to form a broad haze across the horizon. The battle was intense and covered a broad span of ground from north to south. Logan was practically running now, Simralin keeping close.

  “Look,” she said, pointing.

  Winged forms swept in and out of the haze ahead. Skrails, Logan realized at once. If there were skrails, there were likely once-men and demons close at hand.

  Then they crested a long, low rise, and the whole of what was happening ahead was revealed.

  THE LITTLEST OF THE CHILDREN were already being led across the narrow span of the dam, hands linked together, a long winding chain of tiny forms, when Angel told Helen to move the vehicles into position in front of the crossing point to form a protective barrier. They would have to make a stand here if there were still ch
ildren who had not gotten safely over by the time the lead elements of the demon army reached them. Helen selected from among the adults those who would act as defenders and began passing out what weapons they had. The engineers and explosives experts went to work laying charges along the perimeter of the battlefield to help defend against the enemy approach. Everything was pandemonium, a barely controlled chaos that Angel and Helen kept in check with close supervision and repeated reassurances.

  When the Lizards and Elves and some of the other creatures who had been traveling with them came down to the dam head and offered to help, Angel made a quick decision.

  “Helen, give everyone who volunteers weapons to use, and I’ll put them at the barrier with the others. We need as many defenders as we can manage. No time to get choosy about who we’re using.”

  Helen Rice didn’t question her, but handed out what weapons remained, and when those were gone sent the rest of the newcomers down to the dam to help with the children. Angel watched for a few minutes more and then walked up to the barricade of wagons and vehicles and made some last-minute adjustments. Even Logan Tom’s Lightning was pulled into line, its weapons pointed outward, one of the better defenders who’d come up from Los Angeles at the wheel. She wished more than she could say that the other Knight of the Word was there to help. She missed his steady resolve and fierce determination. She found herself wondering anew if she would ever see him again.