The future was like an ancient tree: it had many branches, most alive, but some dead, awaiting the bite of the lumberjack’s axe. The branches were a maze, so thickly tangled not even Crow, whose perspective was more far-reaching than his, could see them all. Preach liked things to be as neat, clean, geometric as a chessboard, and while the tree was no chessboard, he had done his level best to fashion it into his playing field. Moves had been planned out, not over days or weeks, but years. Salvation was coming in the form of the son he had never had, the son he had trained, guided, manipulated all toward the tip of this particular branch, which Crow had seen in his aerie of no-time. He had spent more than a decade climbing this tree with great care and deliberation so that he would arrive here, now, with all the required elements in play.

The future had arrived at last. It would be a surprise to everyone but him.

Chapter 49

49

“You’re prepared,” Whitman said, as they drove away from the landing strip for the short, jouncing ride to the Well.

Charlie fingered the backpack, feeling the familiar contours of its contents through the leather and canvas as if she were sight-impaired. “I am.”

“I’m counting on you.”

“And I’m counting on you.”

They glanced at each other, then away: Whitman at the road ahead, Charlie at the blurred greenery passing by.

“The Elf Lord warned me against consorting with you again,” she said at length.

“Huh! Consorting. That’s a word the Elf Lord would use,” he retorted.

“She didn’t,” Charlie said, “but I did.”

Whitman gave her another sideways look. “Is that what we’re doing? Consorting?”

“Would you prefer ‘pal around with’?”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s just what we’ve been doing.”

There was silence between them for a beat or two.

“Whit,” she said, “what are we in for?”

He considered for a moment. “You recall ‘mind-no mind.’”

She nodded. “From my martial arts training, sure.”

“What did you learn?”

“Come on, Whit. What does this—”

“Indulge me.”

“In mind-no mind you let go of all thought, all anticipation, all expectation.”

“This is the place where we’re headed.”

“React in the moment, at the point of attack and nowhere else.”

“And?”

“Attack with absolute commitment.”

The double meaning of the word commitment hung in the air between them, a bridge of sorts, visible only to the two of them.

Whitman made a sharp turn to the left, and structures appeared piecemeal beyond the dense web of tree branches, as if seen through a kaleidoscope.

“This is what is required of us now.”

*   *   *