A lie, he thought, why did I think that?
I even let her keep it, if just for a moment.
And now she is gone.
He looked up. The dawn’s chill raced and swirled about them. They had left their homeland, and everything it had meant, forever. This new day contained creatures of terrible power, creatures whose greatest passion (or, at least, greatest command) was to kill them.
An eddy of dust filled his nostrils. Bitter. It was a taste little known to halflings. The Bearer, for perhaps the first time in his young life, tasted the bile of despair, borne out of the certainty of a long journey ahead that had now gone very bad from the beginning.
The Woodsman rose up. The same morning chill brought the approach of autumn to his nostrils. Despair he also knew but seldom acknowledged. So ingrained was it in his being after those many years that he bore it like a battle scar from the long past.
The ruby red and deep gold leaves of fall in the northlands swept about them, chattering down the lane in a current indifferent to the cares of mortals.
Going on to nowhere.
Like us, thought the Bearer.
At dawn, Cadence paused one last time in the Forest, standing in the small screened-in porch that had served as her grandfather’s bedroom. Everything was in order. Slanted light played through the creek side oak trees at the back of the building, splaying in odd patterns on the bed like a waving sea fan, highlighting squares of cloth cut from gentlemen’s suits, pajamas, blue jeans, all stitched together in a frayed depression-era quilt. An heirloom, perhaps? A forgotten pattern to forgotten family ties?
On the chest of drawers, next to an old leather jewelry box bearing someone else’s initials, stood the only thing in the room that didn’t look second-hand. It was a faded picture in a wooden frame, probably from J.C. Penny’s or Sears or some other department store photo emporium. As always, Cadence picked it up and studied the subjects. Posed against a stock blue-neutral backdrop, they stared out at her with startling familiarity. It was hard to believe, but there it was, frozen in an incongruous moment as rare as an alignment of stars: her mom Helen, her dad Arnie, and a baby with a pacifier.
In the distance, another world away, she heard a dog barking and a car horn honking out on the road. Time to go. She put the photo back in the same spot and re-hefted her bags.
She hurried through the dimness of the Forest, squeezing along the tight aisles of comic books and retro psychedelic T-shirts. She thought about the police tape and fingerprint dustings, now long gone. It had annoyed her they had left that for her to clean up, but she did and kept everything else intact. On her way through the kitchen in back, she stopped for a final look. On the calico-covered kitchen table, the Abbott and Costello salt-and-pepper shakers stood waiting. So were the mint-condition, boxed Barbies her grandfather might have bought at a yard sale along with miscellaneous collectables, and vintage rock band posters. Banjo Dog had not further strayed from his post. She knew fine dust would settle over all, impossible to stop since it incessantly seeped in from the road.
She sighed as she surveyed the clutter, wondering if the trip she was about to take had an end point.
She checked the lock on the back door and then checked her cell phone for messages. There were two. She punched them up.
“Cadence, Megan. So, I know you say you don’t believe in luck or fairy tales. Well, I’m telling you, missy, I’m counting right now five thousand dollars I won at Vegas! The trip you didn’t want to go with us on Friday? So don’t be a stick in the mud, and let’s go together. All of us girls. Like soon! Let you cut loose and try that old time gospel mystery of the slots. Oh yeah, you won’t believe what else happened! Don’t you not call! Bye.”
The second one was from Mel. “Listen Cadence, I got your e-mail from last night. If you’re going there OK, I’ll help you. Go to the Algonquin Hotel, mid-town. A-L-G-A … anyway, you’ll find it. I’ll make arrangements. Now look, I’ve been scratching my head over this whole thing. I’ve been talking to some of my people, and well, there’s more here than I thought. I’m having research done. In the meantime keep this secret, all right? I suggest you leave the documents with me for safekeeping. At least take them with you. I’ll call as soon as I can.”
She saved both messages, sidled down a cramped aisle to the front of the store, and backed out the front door. The air, already giving up its moisture, felt tired and reheated. A morning bee droned somewhere along with the growing road sounds. Cars clipped by every few seconds. The keys jangled in her hand as she worked the troublesome deadbolt.
“You fear a trial of fire!”
The voice came from nowhere. Not sure if she heard it right, she froze, her hand still holding the key. Then she heard the rumble of a low growl, like a heavy gauge spring being compressed to the point of powerful, uncontrollable release.
She whirled around. A black dog faced her. If it was a dog. It looked pure Pleistocene, the kind of wolfish creature that lurked outside the glow of a Neanderthal campfire. Its long, black fur stood on end as if electrified. Huge, yellow teeth curved like arthritic fingers below yellow-pitted, greenish demon eyes.
Where’s the leash? some part of her mind questioned.
It stopped growling just long enough to breathe, and when it did, saliva roped down its impossibly long red tongue to muddy the dust at its feet. It took a step forward. She tensed, slowly bringing her bags around in front of her. Their eyes locked in stares, no question about who was prey.
Another step forward.
“Docga! Heel!”
The dog stopped mid-step, its eyes unwavering as its master appeared at its side. “It’s OK,” the man said. “He’s never attacked anyone when I’m here.”
Somehow that wasn’t reassuring.
The man seemed at first glance to be a typical Topanga creeker. Black T-shirt. Dirty jeans. Sandles. Black beard and hair. Druggie lean. The kind of man you’d see living in a tent or under one of the rock outcroppings just below town.
He looked directly at her and said the oddest thing, “Beware, Graymalkin. Your soul embarks ill-prepared for your need-fare.”
She was so surprised she laughed. “My what?”
“A journey that must be taken.”
“Who are you?”
“Never mind who I am. You will receive offers.”
“OK, get out of here.”
The man didn’t seem to hear. “Remember, on a journey one always faces temptations to abandon the path.”
“You’re crazy, go back down to the creek.”
“Each offer reveals that which you most desire.”
Now she listened. Not that she understood, but he had her at what you most desire.
“You’ve shipped many an oar I can see.”
“You know nothing of me.”
He paused, and then looked directly into her eyes. “The truth is, caterpillar, there’s not much about you worth knowing. At least not yet. Except for one thing.”
“How about my boyfriend comes out and kicks your ass.” Cadence was not above a bluff.
“Don’t you know that heroines are always orphans, in one sense or another?”
“That’s it. I’m going back inside and he’s gonna come out here and pound you good.”
“Attitude and loud talk can’t help you on this journey.”
She picked up a rock, and the dog leaned forward.
“You still don’t know what this is all about, do you, Cadence? Can’t you smell it? Change is coming. Like smoke borne in advance by a hot wind that propels the fire.”