The Traveler

Gabriel got dressed and stepped out into the courtyard parking area. The old lady who ran the motel had switched off the neon sign and her office was dark. The dawn sky was a lavender color with thin silvery clouds. He walked around the south wing of the motel and saw Maya standing on a concrete slab in the middle of some sagebrush. The concrete looked like the foundation for a house that had been abandoned to the desert.

Maya must have found a steel rod at the construction site. Holding it like a sword, she ran through a series of ritual forms and combinations, similar to the ones he had seen in his kendo school. Parry. Thrust. Defend. Each motion glided gracefully into another.

From a distance, he could observe Maya and stay detached from her single-minded intensity. Gabriel had never met anyone like this Harlequin. He knew she was a warrior who would kill without hesitation, but there was also something pure and honest in the way she faced the world. Watching her practice, Gabriel wondered if she cared about anything other than this ancient obligation, the violence that had claimed her life.

A discarded broom was lying beside the motel’s dumpster. He broke off the broom section and carried the stick over to the concrete slab. When Maya saw him, she stopped moving and lowered her improvised weapon.

“I’ve taken a few kendo lessons, but you look like an expert,” he said. “Do you want to practice sparring?”

“Harlequins must never fight Travelers.”

“I might not be a Traveler, okay? We should accept that possibility.” Gabriel waved the broomstick around. “And this isn’t exactly a sword.”

He gripped the stick with both hands, and then attacked her at half speed. Maya parried gently and swung her weapon around to his left side. The soles of his motorcycle boots made a faint scraping sound as they moved across the concrete rectangle. For the first time, he felt like Maya was looking at him, treating him as an equal. She even smiled a few times when he blocked her attack and tried to surprise her with an unexpected move. Fighting with grace and precision, they moved beneath the enormous sky.

33

It began to get hot as they crossed the state border into Nevada. The moment they left California, Gabriel pulled off his motorcycle helmet and tossed it into the van. He slipped on some sunglasses and roared ahead of Maya. She watched the wind touch his shirtsleeves and the cuffs of his jeans. Turning southeast, they headed toward the Colorado River and the crossing point at Davis Dam. Red rocks. Saguaro cactus. Waves of hot air shimmering on the blacktop. Near a town called Searchlight, Maya saw a series of hand-lettered signs by the side of the road. PARADISE DINER. FIVE MILES. LIVE COYOTE! SHOW THE KIDS! THREE MILES. PARADISE DINER. EAT!

Gabriel gestured with his hand-let’s have breakfast-and when the Paradise Diner appeared he turned into the dirt parking lot. The diner was a flat-topped building that looked like a railroad boxcar with windows. A large air-conditioning unit was installed on the roof. Holding the sword carrying case, Maya got out of the van and studied the building before she decided to go inside. Front entrance. Back entrance. A battered red pickup truck was parked in front of the diner and a second pickup with a camper shell was parked on the side.

Gabriel strolled over to her. He shifted his shoulders around, relaxing his knotted muscles. “I don’t think we need that,” he said and motioned to the sword case. “We’re just eating breakfast, Maya. It’s not World War Three.”

She saw herself in Gabriel’s eyes. Harlequin craziness. Constant paranoia. “My father trained me to carry weapons at all times.”

“Relax,” Gabriel said. “It’ll be all right.” And she saw, in some new way, his face and eyes and brown hair.

Turning away from him, Maya took a deep breath and placed the sword inside the van. Don’t worry, she told herself. Nothing’s going to happen. But she checked the two knives that were strapped to her arms.

The coyote was kept in a chain-link cage built near the front of the restaurant. Sitting on a concrete slab dotted with piles of scat, the captive panted from the heat. This was the first time Maya had ever seen a coyote. He looked like a mongrel dog with a wolf’s head and teeth. Only his dark brown eyes were wild; they watched Maya intently as she raised her hand.

“I hate zoos,” she told Gabriel. “They remind me of prisons.”

“People like to see animals.”

“Citizens want to kill wild creatures or put them into cages. It helps them forget that they’re also prisoners.”