Chapter 14: The Car

They walked all that day, angling both south and west through the Native sector. Bard did not recognize the individual streets after the first small section of city, as they had come almost directly north when going towards the gate. But by now, all of Apex was starting to blend together in his mind. Not used to traveling further than from Dick’s tower to the sea, all on Terminal Point, he could not clearly picture the places they seen. Not as if it were on a map. One street faded into the next, the groups of ruined or standing buildings began to look alike.

The next morning Loran seemed to be sunk deep in thought as they crouched over her little cooking fire. Eventually she asked Bard, “do you know what was wrong with Drifter’s car when he left it? Did you run out of fuel again?”

The boy shook his head and explained that the fuel had been impure, causing it to plug up.

Loran’s dark eyes narrowed. “Then it might be worth our time to make a small detour and get it running.”

“Drifter said that it could take days to clean all of the parts well enough.”

“Yes.” Loran rubbed her hands together speculatively. “But I have an idea for that as well. It would save us a lot of footwork, danger and even time in the long run.”

Bard shrugged. She was in command, as far as he was concerned. That day they turned their march to the south, angling back a little towards the east even. They did not meet anybody, hardly even saw a living thing. By the end of the day the food in their bundles was starting to get low, but this did not seem to concern Loran greatly. She remarked that they would last a day or two more before having to rely on other incomes of supply.

The next day, they were crossing a shadowed area under a leaning structure when Bard surprised a Vollan scurrying out of its hole in a crack of the pavement. Acting on reflex, he snatched it up and whacked its head against a slab of stone, stunning it. A moment later he was sorry he had hurt such a soft, delicate little creature. But it was food and went into Loran’s tiny stew pot that evening.

They made two batches of soup from it and picked the bones clean before throwing them away.

Spurred on by his success, despite loathing having to hurt creatures, Bard kept his eyes open for Vollans as they traveled on. After a few misses, he was able to hit one on the head with a flung rock, knocking it over long enough for him to pick up. After that he also caught a pigeon in the same manner. He was more used to catching and eating the fat birds and felt less compunction about it. Though before, he and Dick had used such contrivances as birdlime, a sticky substance pigeons got stuck in, or nets to procure them.

Throwing rocks was inaccurate and took a lot of strength to stun something. He wished that he had a slingshot like Drifter’s to hunt with. Or even a bow and arrows, so that the beasts would be dead when he picked them up. But he knew that such things took time to make. Time they didn’t have to waste.

Finally they reached the part of town where the car was parked. Bard recognized the ruined buildings with the tree growing up through them, where he had met the griffin before. He warned Loran about it and they came cautiously to where the car was keeping an eye on the heap of rubble and the sky.

It was strange to see the gray car sitting there unharmed, as if waiting for them. It was even more odd to see it while Drifter was not there. It was like they were creeping up on a private part of someone’s life without permission, or as if they should find Drifter there ahead of them, smiling bitterly with his light eyes. But he was not waiting for them and the car was easy to reach. It sat in the shade of the nearby buildings, hood shining a little in one stripe of sunlight. Bard walked up and touched it gingerly, then ran a hand down the cold smoothness. He hoped that Loran would be able to get it going again. It would mean a place of safety against the emptiness of the dark nights.

Loran walked to the door and tried it, then frowned. “Did he lock it when he left?”

Recalling the scene with a start, Bard nodded. “That’s right. He took the key.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Miserly man. He thought he was going to end the world and he still didn’t want anyone getting into his car.”

She lay a hand to the lock and closed her eyes for a moment. Bard shuffled his feet, wondering what they were going to do. He began thinking about breaking the window and hotwiring it to start, when Loran stepped back and the door came open with a click.

“What?” Bard came closer. “I thought that it was locked.”

“It was.” Loran waved a hand. “But I unlocked it.”

She pulled the door open and popped the hood, moving around the awestruck boy to get to the front of the car. The hood opened up above her on oiled hinges, creating a roof she leaned under.

“Do you know about vehicle engines?” Bard asked curiously.

“Not beyond the basics.” Loran ran a hand over the components inside, following tubes and wires to their termination. “I can name most of the parts I see. Not all.”

Grease and dust were left on her sleeve as she pulled her hand back, putting a smudged finger to her chin.

“Then how will you fix it?”

She gave him a long, cool look. “The same way I opened the door.”

“Magic,” Bard breathed, eyes widening in his glasses.

“Not how most imagine it.” She leaned back over the engine, eyes drooping half shut. “While I work, look for a spare key in the car. It will make things easier, later.”

The boy wanted to stay and see what she was doing. But he obeyed her, moving around to climb inside the open door. It felt odd, getting in the car again. He had not thought that he would see it after they left it the first time. The air inside seemed to hold an impression of its master, lingering after he was gone. It felt like Drifter inside, smelled of campfire smoke and the mustiness of abandoned buildings, as he did.

After searching the glove compartment and looking through some of the rubbish in the back, the rags and tags of a nomadic life, Bard found a key taped under the dash at one point. When he peeled it off and had it in his hand it looked like the key Drifter had used for the car. Elated, he bounced out to find Loran standing in front of the hood, rolling her sleeve back down over dusty hands.

“It’s done.” She seemed a little weary, though her straight back and shoulders did not show it. “And you have the key.”

“You mean, the fuel system is cleaned out?” Bard looked from her to the components under the hood. “Already?”

In reply the woman pointed at a little heap of blackish-tan dust laying in front of the car on the pavement. “I just hope that the rest of the fuel is better.”

Made solemn by the acts he had witnessed, Bard gave her the key. She took it with a matter-of-fact tilt of her head, carrying it back around to the open door of the car. Sliding into the seat, she stuck the key in its place before straightening her robes around her. With a pause as if to prepare herself, Loran turned it.

The engine grumbled, then roared into life. At first it ran hesitatingly, but once it got clean fuel to burn everything steadied out.

“Shut the hood,” Loran told him, speaking over its noise. “Then get inside.”

She slammed her own door, waiting for him. Bard used both hands to close the hood, picking up their bundles and tossing them into the back before jumping in himself. Acting slowly, with a frown of concentration, Loran put the car into gear. It jerked forward, before evening off into a steady roll.

“It’s been some time since I’ve driven,” she explained demurely, “even before the disaster it wasn’t my favorite mode of transportation.”

But it wasn’t long before she had mastered the way of driving it, slim foot pressed on the pedal and delicate hands grasping the wheel. She seemed to apply the same almost mystic concentration to steering the car as she did studying relics. Bard gripped the edge of the chair until the ride became smoother, afraid they would smash up on some protruding bit of wreckage. After Loran evened out, he relaxed with a sigh of long-held breath.

The black box Loran had set on the chair between them, tucked carefully back against the seat like a baby. Bard ran a finger over it now and then, mind turning over the problem of what was in it and what it would mean.

“The car seems to be running fine,” he said after a while.

Loran nodded once, before asking, “do we still have fuel to put in it?”

“Yeah, a little.” Bard gestured with his head towards the back. “Wrapped up back there.”

“Good. We may need it.”

The city faded past them outside, the sky shifting from pale, dusty blue to red and gray as the sun began to set. While it still hung over the horizon Loran slowed the car. They had entered a section of city with shorter, sharper hills and more of them. The buildings ran up and down the slopes, dug in or tumbled down. Sometimes it appeared as if the structures had acted like dominoes. When the first fell over, it hit the next, toppling them in a long line. One place they passed had two buildings collapsed sideways onto a third, which was bulging but holding the weight. It was like a bizarre, giant lean-to with everything balanced so that it was just about to fall.

The car slowed down at the peak of one of these hills, where there was the remains of a gazebo made of white stone, surrounded by the cobwebs of burnt bushes. Loran stopped there, pulling over beside the cracked structure. A pair of iron benches, painted dark green, still sat inside. Loran shut off the car and got out, stretching like a cat.

“I need to get my legs moving again. You may start camp, if you like,” she told Bard. He got out and stood by the car as she strode off, then wandered over by the gazebo. The twigs of bushes were a little less burnt than in many places he had been, as the hill had been mostly bare even before the Greenspark. He began harvesting branches for firewood, breaking them off as close to the ground as he had strength to. He had moved part way around the little building when a flash of color in the hedge caught his eyes. Leaning down, he looked closer at the stripe of bright green. An inarticulate noise of joy escaped him.

It was a few sprouts, growing up out of the gnarled roots of the charred bush. Young, supple and deliciously vibrant, they were a promise of life under the scorch. Bard touched the little stalks with reverent fingers, remembering the plants he used to grow in the shielded dome. Without his watering, many of those would be struggling to survive. But out here in the world, where it mattered, there was a bush coming back, sending up the first sprouts in years.

If they were unmolested they would grow, first as a cluster of thin stalks and then branching out into a bush like the parent hedge. Leaves would unfurl, twigs bud...there would be blossoms. And if they were pollinated there might even be seeds.

“The world doesn’t have to end yet,” Bard whispered to the sprouts, “it can still regrow.”

As he crouched there Loran returned, coming to bend down next to him. Silently, they shared the positive energy of the green stalks.

Later, they sat on the floor of the gazebo, backs against the hard metal tubes of the benches. A cold wind had sprung up outside, finding its way through cracks in the structure and making the fire flicker. They had a little meat and dry bread roasting on sticks over the fire, a mixture of Bard’s scavenging and the last supplies. Tomorrow he would have to hunt more, better, perhaps search abandoned buildings for leftover provisions. For now, they had a small meal, just enough to take the edge off their hunger.

The wind outside seemed to make the night darker, more full of menace. Bard put his arms around his knees and shivered, from loneliness more than cold. Loran sat with her robes spread out over her legs, chin propped on fist as she stared at the flames. The light flickered across her face with the wind, creating weird shadows on it.

Bard looked up, suddenly feeling that they were being watched. A sound like breathing, deeper than the wind, reached his ears. A pair of huge red eyes gleamed in at the doorway, smoldering brighter than the coals. He sucked in a breath of air, feeling himself go cold and stiff. Loran also stiffened, eyes fixing on it darkly. The shape of a half-open jaw loomed into the light, large nose twitching under its load of slime. Webbed claws clicked on the hard stone floor. A low growl filled the gazebo.

Bard reached slowly for his knife, mind racing. Could he strike at at the Chardog before it could get its jaws on him? Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Loran raise her pale hand towards the beast. Her voice wavered in the flickering light.

“Beast of the night, dark’s delight, leave us until the morn...”

The Chardog blinked slowly, like an eclipse of the moon. Its growling had stopped and it snuffed towards Loran’s hand as if taking her scent in. Bard was still tensed, ready to spring if it moved towards her. But to his surprise, it turned softly on clicking claws and walked away into the night.

“How...how did you..?”

Loran’s head bowed forward, hair falling over her face and she laughed, half-sobbing. “Drifter. He could talk to the beasts. I didn’t know if it would work, but I learned it from him.”

“That’s right.” Bard let go of the knife, remembering. “He tried to talk to the griffin. And he said...the beasts of the night obeyed him. That’s why he saved the Chardog from those men. It was his friend.”

Shaking back her hair, face composed now, Loran said solemnly, “I don’t know why those words work. They aren’t exactly the ones he used, but he seemed to just make up poems to speak to them. And the animals listen.”

They sat for a few minutes without a word, fire dying lower. Eventually Bard threw a handful of sticks onto the flames and asked hesitantly, “Loran, do you think that, well...he’s happy now?”

For a few minutes the woman did not reply, staring into the embers as she had before. When she answered, her voice was low and dark but clear, like water running under a bridge at night.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I don’t know what his beliefs were, Bard. Perhaps before the disaster he had more fixed ones, as he seemed to have a solid idea about the end of the world. But I do know that he was not naturally cruel or evil.” Looking up, Loran met his gaze. “He followed his mission through a sense of compassion for the people of the world, not for personal gain. And I think that will be taken into account.”

Bard twirled a stick in his fingers, coming to an unexpected conclusion. “I hope so.”

---

Drifter stood in a field of wheat, the stalks reaching up beyond his knees. The golden heads were ripe and full. He ran a hand over them, feeling the rough awns and the bulge of the grain. It was a rich harvest, reaching onto the horizon on every side. A warm breeze bowed the grain over so that the stalks flashed golden in the sun. A young, warm sun more yellow than any bar of men’s gold. It rode in a sky so blue it was pain and joy at once to gaze into it. He could have spent all day, weeks, just looking into the azure depths of that sky.

And the growing field, full of life and hope. Down below the golden straw, green sprouts were coming up from the rich earth. He could see them all around his boots. He did not move for fear of crushing one little plantlife off of the earth.

But when Drifter looked up again there was a cloud on the horizon. It was not a normal cloud, the harbinger of clean rain. It was shaped like a cylinder, huge and fat on the edge of the sky. Dark too, almost black except for where its edges faded into gray softness.

As he watched it, the wind picked up, whipping towards him over the grain. The cloud started to move, coming over the sky with a huge shadow. It loomed towards him and he threw up an arm to block out the wind, enveloped in terror. The darkness moved over the field and blotted Drifter out.

---

The next morning Loran and Bard drove on for a short time, coming to a valley in the hills where a huge structure stood. At one time, it had been a mall, stretching from one side of the glen to the other. Its roofs had fallen in at various places, smashed down by the falling Greenspark. Shattered and melted domes stood up above the roof space. It was only one story tall at most places, a tall story, with a second level at a few chosen points. Courtyards and walkways opened up in the center of the walls, giving a glimpse of tiled floor or shadowed hall. It was a huge, rambling building laying dead between the hills.

“Perhaps we should stop and look for provisions here,” Loran suggested, eyes narrowing as she looked down at the place. “It’s so large that there might be things in it others have missed.”

“Alright.” Bard gripped the knife at his belt. “I can hunt for Vollans, too.”

The parking lot of the mall was a shattered, black expanse of pavement on the southern side. Its buffers and islands were barren, cracked with heat. The gray car rolled out onto it and came to a halt in front of the main entrance. Loran ignored the lines painted on the lot. What other cars were there would never move again.

A great dome stood over the double doors, shading the tiled floor underneath with jagged shadows. Broken glass glittered across it in a wide swath. The pillars upholding the dome were yellowed with grime and rain, a few of them cracked. Bard felt a sense of looming danger as they passed under the dome, as if it were about to fall on them.

The doors of the mall had been glass, with miniature trees and shrubs potted beside them. The heat of the branches burning had melted the thin metal door frames, cracked and started to melt portions of the glass. They stood open, a gaping maw with echoing shadows beyond.

Bard paused before the doorway. “Do you think it’s safe inside?”

“What is safe anymore?” Loran returned with a shrug.

She led the way over the lintel, into a wide hall made dim by the overhanging roof. But after a moment Bard found that it was not truly dark inside. Just gloomy, with odd gleams of light reflecting off of the walls from sun rays ahead and behind. Their footsteps rang on the glossy floor, startling echos which disappeared like imps down diverse ways. The hall ran straight for a long ways, the shadows sometimes broken by a skylight overhead. Here, earth-filled boxes showed where domesticated plants had been grown indoors. In between, hard-cushioned benches and chairs lined the ways.

On either side were the store fronts, usually paneled in glass or thin, dark walling. Bard found himself jumping when they passed clothing outlets, imagining that the mannequins were living people staring out at him. He did not like the empty stores much better, as the shadows seemed to be concealing more than should be there.

Loran led them to a great intersection of the walkway, an open courtyard sprinkled with broken pillars and shattered glass. The floor was tiled white and black, many of the neat squares broken. One of the halls leading from it, straight ahead, was partially collapsed in a pile of dusty fallen stones. Bard lifted his head when he heard a scuffling noise and saw the dart of some creature going beneath the heap. There were Vollan to hunt here, and broken jags of marble to hunt them with.

“You seem to have found some game,” Loran commented, noticing him stiffen. “stay here and hunt. I believe there will be food courts down here, to our left--”

She indicated the hallway, which had posters peeling off of its walls which had depicted sandwiches, fried potatoes and other food for sale. “I will search those for edible leftovers. I may wander some distance looking, so I will meet you back here in an hour. Will that suit you?”

Bard nodded, proud to be asked and given the respect of a man instead of a boy. “An hour. I’ll be here.”

She smiled slightly and moved away down the passage. Stopping just under its overhang, Loran called back, “I don’t think anyone is here, but be careful.”

Bard waved to let her know he had heard. Bending over, he began to pick up shards of marble to use as ammunition. He wished once again that he had some sort of projectile weapon to aid his hunting. It was slow and frustrating using rocks, just hoping they would be enough to slow a creature for him to catch.

Once he had a good handful of medium-weight shards, a little smaller than his fist and jagged all around, he began stalking towards the heap of rubble down the hall. As he stepped into the shadow of the overhang the memory of the Sco-Ber made him pause for a moment. But they were left far behind, deep in the tunnel underground. There were no holes large enough for people in this heap of stone, except for one larger gap near the lower corner. Bard shook the thought of wild children away and went back to his hunt. There were many fat Vollans living in the heap, as well as a few ugly, greenish-gray rats of a large size. Bard knew better than to try eating a rat. There was no telling what one had been living off of. He only threw stones at the Vollans, which scrambled about from hole to hole carrying tiny bits of nesting in their mouths or looking for food of their own.

He missed until he had only a few stones left. Forcing down his frustration, he took his time with the next shot and knocked a creature down. Feeling a brutal satisfaction, the boy drew his knife and jumped forward, pinning the creature down before it could move. At the same time a second Vollan popped up near him and darted towards the largest gap in the ruins. Bard shot his last rock after it on reflex, crouching over his kill. The stone struck the rodent a glancing blow, making it squeak and stumble. Bard came after it in an instant, but the creature scrambled painfully out of his way down the large gap. It left a few tiny drops of blood behind, showing that it had been injured, just not stunned.

Angry at losing so many of his shots, and knowing that the rest would be frightened into silence anyway, Bard hurried after the injured Vollan with a cry. It had disappeared down the large hole into deep shadows. He followed, squeezing his shoulders in and stooping to wiggle after it. It was a surprisingly short tunnel through the collapsed roof. He came to the other side in just a moment. It was darker here, but not enough to blind him. Ahead of him, the walls bulged and crumbled out into the path, blocking half of the hall. The other half was open, leading to what looked like some sort of open cafe strewn with light metal tables. The Vollan had vanished from sight, apparently diving into a pocket in the rubble Bard could not see.

Frowning, he slammed his knife back in his belt. He still had time to go back and hunt before Loran returned, but the creatures would all be hiding in their holes now. He only had one Vollan for all of the trouble of hunting.

Peering down the dim hall, he inspected the tables and chairs sitting around in tight groups. If there was a cafe here, there might be a food storage place somewhere in the back. He might as while scavenge for dry goods the rest of his time. It could possibly turn up more than hunting did.

Careful not to trip or knock into anything in the shadows, Bard walked down the hall. It felt close inside, the air moist and stuffy. When it widened out into a cafe, the air lightened a little, thanks to the small, cracked skylights set at an angle in the roof. They sent streamers of golden light down onto the floor at places, or onto the round tables.

One of the lighted tables appeared to have an object on it. Bard moved closer to take a look. It was a wide, flat box with a red pattern on the lid and a golden hasp. It looked like something that would be used to hold cigars, not food, but curiosity prompted him to open it anyway. The hasp clicked open easily under his thumb and he peeled back the lid.

Inside, something gleamed and glittered on red velvet lining. Set snugly in an indent was a weapon, a pistol. But one unlike any Bard had seen before. It was of a very old make, with a wooden stock, polished honey brown, and gleaming double barrels. All over, from the butt to half way up the barrels, it was chased in gold. The pattern swirled and spread like climbing leaves, catching the beam of light from above. Chiseled deeply into the stock was a familiar branching mark.

“A relic.” Bard bent over the table, touching the weapon as if afraid that it would melt away under his fingers. “A pistol that is a relic. Dick never mentioned one like this.”

Beside the gun, in the case, was a set of smaller indents, each containing a brass and lead bullet, sticking upright for easy removal. Bard blinked at them, suddenly realizing that he had found the projectile weapon he needed. He lay a hand on the gun, starting to take it out of the case.

A movement in the shadows forestalled him. A white blur coalesced from a nearby hall, forming into a swirling shape. No features but big, empty, dark eyes on a delicate human head, long hair that floated around it without a gust of wind. A body and form almost human, but not quite.

Bard had never seen a phantom before, but he knew that was what it was. He stood bent over the table, face paling as it neared until his features had hardly any more color than the wraith’s.

The white form slid to a stop in front of him, though its hair continued to billow out and around in mad waves. A thin robe, like silk worn to gauze, appeared to hang on its angular, delicate body. A hand reached out towards the boy. When it passed through the sunlight, the radiant beams went straight through it, making the apparition of flesh glow.

Bard could not move. He tried and was rooted to the spot. The hand touched him gently on he forehead, making cold shivers run all through him. It was like being touched by the foam of an ocean wave.

“Take the weapon and go.” A tinkling voice ran through his mind, played on invisible harp strings. “She is in danger. You must hurry.”

“Who?” Bard thought the question more than said it. The words barely formed on his lips.

“Your companion. Do not ask questions. Go!”

The phantom stood back and started vaporizing into the shadows. Bard picked up the gun, found that it was already loaded when he broke the barrels open to check and picked up the case. He did these things as if he always had, though he had never seen a weapon like it in real life. Whether it was memories of something he had read or seen before, or something the phantom put in his mind, he was not sure.

Bard found himself running back the way he had come, squeezing through the tunnel and coming out into the light of the open courtyard. It was as if a compulsion were pushing him forward. He glanced around the courtyard and, seeing no one, hurried down the left-hand hall, which Loran had taken. It soon became dim inside, the way lined by various candy, sandwich and popcorn shops. They went by swiftly as Bard strode down the hall, gun clasped in one hand and case tucked under his arm.

He came to a split of ways and paused, about to call out. But then he heard a harsh voice echoing from down one hall.

“Your magic can’t effect me, witch woman. C’mere. What have you got in that bag?”

Loran’s voice was too low and controlled to be made out. The man’s voice grated something and the sounds of a struggle came to Bard. Turning down the hall, he ran as quietly as possible until he saw a slice of light falling from above across the passage. Just outside of it, a tall man stood dressed in a sort of armor, made up of leather pieces sewn with bits of steel or lengths of narrow chain strung together. He was big, powerful, and had Loran by the arm, drawing her nearer. There was already a red mark like a bruise on her face and wrist. Her eyes flashed dark fire as she reached for something at her belt. A cloth bag lay sprawled at their feet.

“Now, none of that!” the man growled, grasping her other hand at the wrist as she tried to draw a knife. He twisted it and she cried out, dropping the blade to the floor.

Bard dropped the gun’s case with a bang, raising both hands to hold the gun trembling, pointing at the armored giant.

His voice was hoarse as he cried out, “let her go!”

Still twisting Loran’s wrist as she struggled and kicked at him, the giant swiveled his large, bearded head to stare at Bard. His teeth flashed and he laughed. “Put your toy down, kid. You ain’t going to do nothin’ with it.”

At the same time, with a casual gesture, he let go of Loran with one hand and raised it to give her a blow across the head with the armor on his upper arm, knocking her to the floor. He turned towards the boy, grasping at a long knife in his own belt.

The pistol’s trigger seemed to take a terrible pressure to pull. Bard wasn’t sure where he was aiming, except for at the huge man. The gun went off with a loud report and a recoil which made his arms tingle, the barrels jumping up as it went off. There was a clang like a struck barrel and the man looked down at a hole in his homemade chestplate.

“You hit me!” He seemed surprised and angered more than pained. Looking up, he took a few steps forward as if to rush the boy. Bard pulled the trigger again and the other barrel unloaded into the giant. This time he cried out and stumbled, blood oozing from the holes in his chest. He gripped them, coughing and staggering towards Bard, who stood watching in horror. Finally, the man fell at full length on the tiled floor, armor clinking around him. His hand stretched out once more, threateningly, before he went still.

The boy looked from his gun to the man in shock. It had done something big. He had done something big. Suddenly, he remembered Loran and hurried around the fallen giant to where she lay.

“Loran?”

She stirred and sat up painfully with his help, wincing. “I’m alright.”

Loran ran a hand over her face, frowning at the marks on her wrists. Then she looked over at the fallen man. “You killed him.”

“I had to.”

Her eyes took him in thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

Bard flushed red and helped her to her feet, finding to his irritation that he stuttered as he replied, “o-of course. It was the ph-phantom that warned me. And gave me this weapon!”

Looking at it as he held it out, Loran’s expression became darker. “Another relic.”

“What do you mean, another one?”

As an answer Loran went over to the dead man and stooped down, pulling something from around his neck. “He jumped me suddenly and I tried to...well, influence him to let me go. But I could not do anything to him. Here’s why.”

She held out a chain with a pendant dangling on the end of it. The pendant was shaped like a skull with red jeweled eyes. On its brow was etched the branching mark.

“It blocked me.” She held it out for him to see. “A magic relic. Or anti-magic perhaps, you would say.”

Bard shook his head, amazed and shaken from killing his first man. Seeing that he was pale and trembling, Loran picked up her cloth sack and the case, putting a hand on his shoulder to steer him back out through the halls to the open courtyard.

“Now tell me, did you say something about a phantom?”

Bard nodded, trying not to see the round wounds with blood leaking out of them, crimson life leaving the body. “I found this pistol in its case, back there.”

He indicated the hole in the heap of rubble. “It was on a cafe table. When I opened the case a phantom appeared. At least, I guess it was a phantom. I’ve never seen one before!”

He was shaking all over now from the shock of the incident. Though Loran bore the bruises, she was coldly alert.

“Calm down. Be at peace, Bard,” she told him firmly, soothingly, “Explain what it looked like.”

The boy sat down and took a deep breath, looking up to explain what he had seen and how the apparition had acted. When he was through, he took a deep breath of air and felt much better about the whole thing.

“That was, indeed, a phantom,” Loran said, laying a finger to her chin in thought. She stood still for a few minutes, so still it almost seemed she had turned to stone. Eventually she spoke, “I’ve never heard of one taking interest in human affairs before. It’s as if something has changed...perhaps opening the Gate did effect the world in some way.”

“I don’t know.” Bard put his head in his hands. “Everything is so confusing now.”

“Come.” Loran pulled him to his feet. “Don’t give in to moping. I have some food and you have a dead Vollan over there, I see. Let’s return to the car and continue on our path. It’s the only way we’ll find the truth.”

They collected the Vollan, before making their way through the dim halls back out into the sunlight where the car was parked.

“Loran, how does your magic work?” Bard asked, realizing that she had indicated it could be blocked.

She gave him one of her long, cool looks. “It’s just a gift I was given.”

And she would not say anything more.