The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [101]
Marty gave an enthusiastic nod. “I liked that.”
Travis promised them he would. The two men waved good-bye, then headed out the door. Travis stared at his empty plate, then dumped it in the trash and ventured out.
He spent the day wandering the gray streets of downtown, trying to gather courage enough to go through with his plan.
And just what is this plan that requires so much courage? came Jack's inquisitive voice. I've never been able to fathom you, Travis, but I have to say, your current behavior is more confounding than usual.
Travis started to tell Jack to be quiet, but he forgot the words as something caught his eye: a red piece of paper taped to a newspaper box. He moved to the box and tore off the paper. On it was the photocopied picture of a man. He was handsome, smiling in his tuxedo jacket—a wedding photo. There was a name and address below the picture, but it was the word above, printed in large type, that Travis read over and over. Missing.
The wind snatched the paper from his hand, and it fluttered away. He squatted, peering at the headline through the scuffed window of the newspaper box, but the lead story was about how the crime rate had gone down 32 percent since Denver began its contract with Duratek Corporation.
They control everything in this city, Travis. That has to include the newspapers. You won't read any news stories about the abductions.
Yet Anna Ferraro had done a story about the disappearances on TV. Maybe Duratek didn't control everything.
Not yet, anyway. Travis stood, shivering in his parka. He had no idea why Duratek was abducting people, but it was hardly out of character. What was the life of a homeless person to them if they could gain from it?
Except it wasn't just the homeless who were vanishing now. The man on the flier had been happy, loved. Someone missed him. Travis didn't know what that meant. He turned his back on the newspaper box and trudged on.
At last, as the late-afternoon sun angled toward the mountains, he found himself in Confluence Park. It was here, at the point Cherry Creek flowed into the Platte, where gold was first found in 1858. Maybe Travis would find what he was looking for here as well. He headed down a bike path and found a shadowed nook beneath the Speer Boulevard bridge. On the other side of the river rose the spires of the Steel Cathedral, and they looked sharp enough to cut the sky.
He glanced down. The iron box rested in his hands. He didn't remember pulling it out.
Was this really the right thing to do? Maybe not, but it seemed to be the only option. He didn't know where in the world Duratek's gate was hidden, and even if he did, there was no way to get out of Denver and go there. Yet there was still something he could do for Eldh. He could destroy any chance Mohg had of breaking the First Rune.
He could destroy Krondisar and Sinfathisar.
I knew you were scheming something, Jack said, his words thrumming angrily in Travis's mind. And I must say, this is most rash indeed. I wish you had brought this foolish idea up earlier. For you see—
Travis envisioned Sirith, the rune of silence, and Jack's voice was cut short. He had known Jack would object to his plan, but Travis couldn't let anything stop him.
He opened the box, took out the Stones, and held them in his right hand, feeling the hum of power against his skin. It would be so easy. He was a runelord—all he had to do was invoke their power and he could do anything he imagined. The wall between the worlds would fall down like a curtain, and he would see his friends standing before him, smiling, arms outstretched . . .
No. That was precisely why it was so dangerous to use the Stones. Because it was easy.
I won't become like Mohg. I won't.
Travis sensed Jack's muffled protest, but he ignored it. Tightening his fingers around the Stones, he spoke the one word that could save him.
“Reth.”