Kirisin cocked an eyebrow. “You should tell her.”
Praxia grimaced. “I don’t think so. I’d rather just tell you. That’s difficult enough. You tell her, if you want.” She bit her lip. “Can I ask a favor? Can I see the Elfstone for a moment? Just take a quick look at it?”
Kirisin was instantly wary. But he tamped down his immediate response and nodded. He had placed the Loden in a small pouch that hung about his neck on a cord. He reached down his neck, found the pouch, and brought the Elfstone out into the light. Praxia didn’t try to take it from him. Instead, she leaned forward to peer at it, her brow furrowing in concentration.
“Kirisin,” she whispered. “I can see movement inside. I can see a little of the city and the Elves!” Her voice was filled with excitement. “I can see them, right there, inside!”
“I could see it, too,” he said. “After the magic drew everything in, I looked. I could see movement, too.”
He gave her another few moments, then put the Loden away. Praxia smiled. “Thanks for letting me see. It makes what we’re doing real. It makes it have meaning. Saving our city and our people.” She paused. “You’re very lucky.”
“Is that what I am?”
She nodded. “I know you must be scared. I would be. I know you must have all kinds of doubts about what you are doing. But I meant it. I wish it were me. No matter what that means. I wish it were me. I would die for that to happen.”
Her words were so intense that for a moment Kirisin just stared at her, unable to say anything.
She brushed stray strands of her dark hair from her eyes. “I would, Kirisin. I would.”
The afternoon wore on, the sun passing west toward the mountains and finally dipping below the jagged peaks. Twilight settled in, a slow fading of the light toward darkness, a gradual emergence of stars and moon, a cooling of the air. Even though the landscape was stark and barren and seemingly empty of life, the gathering darkness softened and smoothed the rougher edges. Kirisin sat with Praxia and the other Elves and watched it slowly disappear into blackness.
All the while, Logan Tom continued to work on the Ventra 5000, tinkering with its parts, laboring over the solar collectors that powered its engine.
He was still working on it when Kirisin, who had stretched out on the ground close by to watch him, fell asleep.
HIS SLEEP WAS DEEP and untroubled, a blanket of silence and darkness wrapped tightly about him. He was unaware of time’s passage, of anything having to do with the waking world.
Kirisin.
His mother was calling his name.
Kirisin.
Her face appeared from out of the darkness, familiar and welcoming, and he smiled with joy.
“Kirisin!”
His eyes snapped open. Praxia was bending over him, her small, wiry frame taut, her face dark with misgiving and fear. She put a hand over his mouth when he tried to speak, silencing his effort.
She bent so close he could feel her breath in his ear. “Get up. No talking. Walk over to the transport and get inside. The skrails have found us.”
He flinched at her words, even without knowing yet what skrails were. She released her hand and straightened, turning away from him and staring off into the darkness. Looking past her, he could see Logan Tom still working on the Ventra, hunched over the open hood, hands buried somewhere in the engine workings. His black staff rested against one fender, its runes glowing as if they were on fire. The other Elves were spread out in a loose circle, weapons drawn, dark shadows in the pale glow of the starlight.
He listened for a moment. He could hear nothing.
He climbed to his feet carefully, making no noise at all. Praxia was standing right next to him, a long knife in each hand, crouched and ready.
“How long was I asleep?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “Not long. Get inside the transport.”
From somewhere off in the distance, back the way they had come, a series of high-pitched screeching sounds broke the silence. It reminded Kirisin of the cries of hunting birds, large and fierce predators, and it sent a chill up his spine.
“Go!” Praxia hissed at him, gesturing urgently with her long knife.
He had only moved a couple of steps when he was struck from behind, a hard blow to his head and shoulders that sent him sprawling. Fire lanced across his back where claws had raked through his clothing to tear into the skin, and he could feel the blood running freely from his wounds. As he struggled to his feet, he saw dark forms swooping down out of the night, a gathering of shadows that completely surrounded the Elves and the Knight of the Word. Sharp, piercing cries filled the night, mingling with shouts and cries of warning.