I returned from my tent, my bag slung over my back. The plane was loaded on a trailer, and Elias was once again busy removing the left wing with a blowtorch. Three men eased it down, tucked it into the fuselage, and Elias secured it.
“I don’t know how many times I’ll need to do that. Hopefully this was it.” He breathed deep and reached out the U-Haul keys. “Kirk, the truck stays with you. But I can’t help thinking I got the better deal.”
A large artist eagerly grabbed the keys. “Are you kidding? Even if it had been working before, we had no purpose for the rusted Porsche. I just hope your guy back in Wisconsin will accept the Porsche in the truck’s stead.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Izzy appeared, carrying her guitar case. “He’ll be fine with the deal.” She smiled at Elias. “It’s been quite a trip. Just look at you two now.”
I walked toward her. “You’re not coming?”
“No. I’m staying here for a while. They don’t seem to mind that I’m a nut, or that I don’t have it all together, you know? This seems like a good place to figure out my story, and then maybe . . . maybe I go home. Tell my parents that Anchorage has a university too.”
I blinked. “I thought you said you didn’t have ’rents anymore. I really thought you had done the deed.”
Izzy laughed. “I love them, you dummy. Who do you think is after me? Not the law. My parents have never stopped looking for me. But Wisconsin can wait a few more weeks.” She raised her guitar case. “Every commune needs a troubadour.”
“You actually play?” I gave her a hug. “And your ’rents live where we found you?”
“An hour away. Oh, London. Take care of him,” she said. “Lots of love there, and it’s all for you. Mistreat him and I will kill you.” Izzy’s voice softened. “Even though I love you.”
She set down her case and popped the latch, removed a steel-stringed guitar, and she played. It was quiet and beautiful and haunting. She played as we climbed in the car. She played through the starting of the engine.
Izzy played until she was a shadow in my rearview mirror.
I reached the end of Cary Road and paused at the T, glancing left and then right. “I don’t know where to go.”
“I know.”
“Does that bother you?” I asked.
Elias shook his head. “Take me someplace new.”
“New. Well, we were west, we can continue east. It doesn’t matter, because maybe the real you is finally here to stay. Maybe the Other One is gone.”
He gently kissed my ear. “No. I feel it. I’m slipping right now, Clara. Hold my hand.”
I did. For an hour, our fingers intertwined. I shared stories of London. Of Marbury street. Of my dad and my mum, Teeter and Marna. He said nothing.
“And there’s one more story I need to tell.” I took a deep breath. “Because it explains pretty much everything about why I’m here.”
His grip tightened around my fingers, and then released. I looked into his eyes.
My Elias was gone.
“What happened to the truck?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“And Izzy. Where is she? Where’s the guard?”
“Home. She’s going home.”
“I see.” He bowed his head. “Are you going to abandon me too?”
I took hold of his wrist. “No, Elias. You and I will continue together. We need to leave Salem temporarily. Care to consult your map?”
Elias bowed his head.
What was it like to live with gaps? To be here one moment and gone the next? I once felt sorry only for my Elias, but here, with the Other One, I felt for him too.
“Clarita? This is for you.”
He placed the sketch on my lap.
“No, Elias, take it back. I don’t need to see it.”
Elias slowly removed the sheet. “But it explains . . .”
“It’s a father running and a child fleeing, isn’t it?”
Elias shifted. “What else do you know?”
I forced a smile. “I know that for the first time maybe I don’t need to . . . know, that is.”
“Well,” Elias said, and his voice drifted.
Izzy had come and gone, but her words hung with me. I would look after Elias. I would set myself aside, at least until this quest was done. There would be plenty of time to broach the topic of my secret during the return trip.
He cleared his throat. “Orion’s clear tonight. Did we find the forge? Did you meet Hephaestus?”
“Yes.” I pointed toward the back. “The forge fixed the plane. I flew in it. Amazing skill.”
“So still on track. We continue.” Elias pointed to the right. “We should head to the east. To the sun. Or in our case to the light to find the Lightkeeper. We stop the evil; Salem is healed.”
And maybe you are too.
New Hampshire.
Our road twisted through beautiful mountains. Not like the Alps, with their crags and peaks. Switzerland caused awe and wonder, its terrain created by an angry God with a sharp chisel. These mountains rolled like waves, smoothed, perhaps, by the flow of prehistoric seas. Gentle. Comforting. We whisked through the dark, through the rise and fall left by deep waters.
Then, we couldn’t.
“Elias. Wake up.” I shook his shoulder. “We’ve reached the ocean.”
He stretched and blinked. “The ocean. We are far from Salem, aren’t we?”
“Yes. We must have crossed into Maine.” I pulled over, the turn-off to I – 95 looming. “There is no more east. It’s north or south from here on. Not much more north either. You have no passport. Canada isn’t an option.”
Cars rushed by us, and I stared at a distant bay, whose hand reached out and grasped the Atlantic, whose hand reached out and grasped my home. England. It called from the other side of that sea. London. It had been months since I’d turned to face it.
Elias fought with his star map, twisting and turning it until the direction lined up. “We are out of stars. We’re at the edge of the world. This is the horizon.”
“Well then, I say we head north.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Reach me my diary.”
I opened the pages and flicked on the dome light.
“Kabul. Day 102. I bumped into the three on a small street, safe supposedly, but crumbling. I wanted to see this place, this mess of a country. My dad had built a hospital, and I hoped to stay there, but fighting had leveled it. So I turned around, retracing my steps. I walked quickly, my head covered, through the shadows. I was prepared for misery. I was not prepared for this chance encounter.
“Two Americans and a Swede. They called themselves Peacewalkers.”
“Peacewalkers?” Elias frowned.
“Uh. Travelers from Salem.”
Elias gave an exaggerated nod. “I suppose you’ve bumped into them during your travels.”
“Well, these three used to be five. One perished in Syria. One in Cyprus. They had walked across Iraq and through Iran. They had walked South Sudan and years ago walked Rwanda. Yugoslavia. Libya. Egypt. One walked Vietnam. Wherever there was war, they walked.”
I paused. The faces of these three older men were imprinted in my mind like few others.
“Why were they walking?”
“They were praying.” I sighed. “To non-god. They were praying for peace, for Salem. I told them they were simply causing more disruption. That if they were ever taken, they would be used and tortured, and the United States and Sweden would be in a quandary of sorts, not knowing whether to attempt a rescue. I told them they were placing their homelands in a scrape.”
I looked out the window. “They said they were walking to a different homeland. They had left instructions to be ignored. They believed they needed to pray. There were explosions in the distance, and I suggested perhaps non-god could not hear them over the sounds of war. They lay their hands on my head and began to babble, but I shrugged them off and headed south, back toward the airport.
“They headed north, citizens of two countries, proud of one but searching for another. Searching for Salem.”
It was quiet for a while. “I wonder who they were.” He folded up his map and tucked it in the glove compartment. “We won’t need this anymore. Did they say they had seen the Keeper, the enemy?” Elias said.
“Oh, I am certain they had seen him up close.”
“Then north. We’ll go north like they did, and we’ll prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“Pray.” Elias folded his hands. “Do you know how?”
“For me, it seems to be an acquired taste.” I bit my lip. “Maybe if I’m alone and given the right environment.”
“Start.”
Elias squeezed tight his eyes and bowed his head. He had assumed the position. This had not been the desired outcome of the story. “I, uh, I shall pray quietly.”
“How am I supposed to learn?” he asked without opening his eyes. “Pray.”
I exhaled, and forced my mind onto non-god, onto the large cross. “Um, we’re in Maine. We are looking for —”
“The Keeper,” Elias whispered. “Tell God we’re looking for the Keeper.”
“I was coming to that,” I hissed. “As you just heard, we are looking for the Keeper. If you answer mythological inquiries, perhaps you could show us where to go. The end.”
I stepped on the gas and drove into morning, trying to place as many miles as possible between me and my first public prayer. We were close to our destination, I could sense it, and there would be no more slowing now.