Bearers of the Black Staff

by Terry Brooks

  He turned his attention back to the bodies, waiting. Whatever had done such terrible damage might still be lurking about, and he wanted to be sure it had moved on before he revealed himself. He kept perfectly still for long minutes, watching the surrounding trees, especially higher up on the slope, where it appeared from the blood trail that the killers had gone. Kodens, maybe. Or a wolf pack at hunt. But nothing he could imagine seemed quite right.

  Finally, giving Prue a quick glance and motioning once again for her to stay where she was, he stepped out into the open and advanced on the dead. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he approached and saw more clearly the extent of the damage that had been inflicted. Not only had the bodies been torn to pieces, but large parts were missing entirely. The bodies were so mutilated that he wasn’t even sure identification was possible. He kept switching his gaze from the dead to the upper slopes, still not sure it was safe.

  When he stopped finally, he was right next to the remains. A hand and arm here, a foot there, a piece of a torso off to one side. Two bodies, he guessed. They might have fought hard to stay alive, but he didn’t think they’d ever had a chance. It looked as if they had been caught sleeping; there were blanket fragments scattered about, and the remnants of a fire pit were visible. They might have been dead almost before they knew what was happening.

  He found himself hoping so.

  He took a deep breath of the cold morning air to clear his head, then knelt for a closer look. His tracking skills took over instantly. He sorted through the remains more carefully now, more intensely. Two bodies, a man and a woman who had been wearing gear very much like his own. Were they Trackers? He tried to think if he knew of anyone who was missing. There were always Trackers patrolling the upper heights of the valley, always at least half a dozen at work.

  Then he caught sight of the bracelet on the wrist of the severed hand a few feet off. He rose, walked over, and knelt again. The bracelet was gold, and there was a tiny bird charm dangling from a clasp.

  He closed his eyes and looked away. Bayleen.

  That meant the other body was Rausha’s. He knew them both. Trackers, like himself, but older and much more experienced. He had known them for years. Prue had known them, too. Bayleen had lived a few cottages away and had often looked after Prue when she was very little.

  He thought about how this might have happened, scanning the ground for a sign that would confirm his suspicions. Rausha was a big man and very strong; whatever did this would have been much stronger and would have caught him off guard completely.

  He slipped the bracelet off the severed wrist and got to his feet. He looked around once more, more cautious now than ever, more aware of what it was they were up against. “Come out, Prue,” he called over to her.

  He met her halfway, not letting her get any closer to the remains. When she was standing in front of him, green eyes mirroring the horror in his own, freckled face trying to look brave, he held out the bracelet.

  “Oh, no, Pan,” she whispered. Tears appeared in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

  “Rausha, too,” he said. He slid the bracelet into his pocket. “They must have been asleep when it happened.”

  Prue put her hands over her face and began to sob. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Shhh, Prue, shhh. It’s all right.”

  It wasn’t, of course, but it was all he could think to say. As he held her, he was reminded of how small she was. Her head barely reached his shoulders, and her body was so slight it was almost not there. He patted her head and stroked her hair. It had been a long time since he had seen her cry.

  Finally she stopped and stepped back, brushing at her face with her sleeve. “What are we going to do?” she asked quietly.

  “We’re going after whoever did this,” he said at once.

  She looked up at him in disbelief. “You and me? We can’t do that! We’re still in training!”

  “Technically,” he agreed. “But we have the authority to make decisions on our own when we’re scouting.”

  The tears were gone entirely now, and a hard look had replaced them. “I don’t think Trow Ravenlock would agree with you.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  “But then he isn’t here, is he?”

  Panterra gave her a quick smile. “No, he isn’t.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “And we’re the best ones for a job like this, aren’t we?”

  She was alluding to their special talents, the ones responsible for gaining them Tracker standing at such a young age. Even at seventeen, he could decipher a trail better than anyone. He had an uncanny knack for knowing what had left it, and how long before, when others wouldn’t even know it was there. Even Trow, who was the leader of the Trackers, acknowledged as much—although he still referred to Panterra as a boy. Prue was more gifted still. She had been born with preternatural instincts that warned of impending danger even when it was not visible. It was a talent she was rumored to have inherited from someone who had come into the valley with the Hawk. She had sensed the presence of the bodies that very morning, while they were still almost a hundred yards away. Young as they were, Panterra Qu and Prue Liss were the most effective pair of Trackers in Glensk Wood and perhaps the entire valley.

  “We are the best,” Panterra affirmed. “Anyone else who tries will be at much greater risk.”

  “What do we do if we find the things that did this?” She gestured toward the bodies.

  “Mostly, I just want to get a look at them. A larger force can always hunt them down later.” He held up one hand in a warding gesture. “I’m not suggesting you and I should try to take them on by ourselves.”

  “No, I shouldn’t think so. Nor do I think we want what we’re hunting to catch us out. We have to be very careful. I don’t want to end up like Bayleen and Rausha.”

  He shifted his shoulder pack, looking out across the snowy expanse and the trail of blood. “Don’t worry, we won’t.”

  They set out at once, skirting the killing ground as quickly as possible, trying not to think about their friends and what it must have been like for them. They trudged up the slope in the wake of the blood spots, no longer bothering to hide their footprints, which would have been difficult in any case given the crusty covering of snow. The things they were tracking were making no effort to hide their passing, either, their huge splayed footprints clearly outlined where their feet had sunk deep into the white. Panterra gave them a quick glance, processing the information they offered. Great fleshy pads provided balance, claws the size of a Koden’s allowed for ready purchase against the rock and frozen ground, two legs rather than four meant that they walked upright, and long strides suggested each one was well over six or even seven feet tall. Prue was right: he did not want these things to find out they were being tracked.

  He glanced over at his youthful companion. He had grown up with Prue Liss; they had lived next door to each other and spent their childhoods together. The source and extent of their gifts was an open secret within their families, but otherwise kept private. Trow Ravenlock let them pair up because they had come to the Tracker cadre together and asked to be trained as a team. He might have preferred assigning each to someone older but quickly saw that they functioned best as a unit. More often than not, each knew what the other was thinking without either having spoken; each could finish the other’s sentences as if they shared the same voice.

  They had been together for so long, it seemed impossible that it would ever be otherwise.

  “They’re going back up into the mountains,” Prue observed. She brushed back a lock of her flaming-red hair, tucking it under her cap. “Do you think they might be Kodens?”

  The great bears lived at the higher elevations, solitary and reclusive, appearing now and then to hunters and trappers but hardly ever coming close to the communities. Certainly Kodens were big and strong enough to kill a pair of unsuspecting Trackers, as Panterra had surmised earlier.

  But it st
ill didn’t feel right. “Kodens don’t hunt in pairs,” he pointed out. “Nor would they savage a body that way. They only kill to eat or protect their young. There were no signs of young Kodens and no reason for the savaging. Unless they were maddened by some disease or chance brought them together at the campsite, it doesn’t make sense.”

  Prue didn’t say anything for a minute, her breath clouding the air, her footfalls silent in the soft snow. “But what else could do something like this?”

  He gave her a shake of his head. He didn’t know. He glanced over and saw the mask of determination etched on her face. They were so different, Prue and he. For all that they shared talents that bound them closer than if they were siblings, they were still polar opposites in almost every way. He was tall and broad-shouldered and much stronger than he looked. She was slight, almost frail—although she could also be very tough when it was called for. She was emotional about everything, and he was emotional about almost nothing, a cerebral thinker, a planner and calculator. He was cautious while she was quick to act. He was forward thinking while she preferred to live in the moment.

  He could list other differences, other contrasts, but in truth they were still more alike than not. They shared a love of life lived outside walls, a life of exploration and discovery. They were skilled survivalists, able to convert almost anything at hand into tools and shelter. They were athletic and good with weapons. They were of a like mind about the ways in which the world was changing, too, here within the valley, where the once united peoples who had been saved were splintering into groups that no longer had much to do with one another and who, in some instances, were openly hostile to those who were not like them.

  They were in agreement about the one they called Hawk, who had brought their people here five centuries ago, and about those who now called themselves his children.

  Ahead, the blood trail, which had diminished steadily the farther they got from the killing ground, bloomed anew amid a line of thinning trees. Pan slowed their pace, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, searching the shadows for signs of their quarry. But nothing moved on the landscape or amid the trees and rocks.

  The silence was deafening.

  “Do you sense anything?” he asked Prue.

  “Nothing that I didn’t sense before.” She glanced over, her fine-boned features tense beneath her cap. “Is that stain ahead what I think it is?”

  He chose not to answer. “Wait here,” he told her.

  He edged ahead toward the smear, already as certain as she must have been that it was blood. But as he neared, he saw that there were bones, too. There were bits of flesh and clothing.

  There was part of a head.

  Prue, who had come up beside him, silent as a shadow, threw up on the spot, unable to help herself, choking and gasping as she knelt in the snow. Panterra gripped her shoulders, bending close. “Take deep breaths,” he whispered.

  She did as she was told, and the sickness appeared to dissipate and her head to clear. “Don’t look,” he told her.

  “Too late,” she replied.

  He helped her to her feet. “They ate them here, didn’t they?” she murmured.

  He nodded, forcing himself to look anew at the mess, studying the ground carefully, reading the signs. “They ate them, and then they slept. Over there.” He pointed.

  They walked over to a pair of depressions in the snow that gave a clear indication of the size and bulk of their quarry. Panterra knelt once more, touching the packed snow, trailing his fingers across its surface.

  “They slept here after eating, then rose and went that way.” He pointed off to the west and back down the slopes. “They’re not done hunting.”

  “How far ahead?” she asked.

  He rose and stood looking bleakly down into the deep woods that spread out below them. “Only an hour or so.”

  They set out once more, neither of them saying anything now, both of them concentrating on the task at hand. The air was growing warmer as the sun moved higher, the morning inching toward midday. They had been tracking for more than seven hours, and Panterra was aware of the need for food and rest. But they couldn’t afford to stop for either until they finished this. The risk of losing their quarry, now that they were so close, was too great to set aside in favor of personal needs.

  The snow line had been left behind more than a mile back, and the frozen ground of earlier had softened. Traces of footprints reaffirmed that there were two of them, and the width and depth of their prints was worrisome. Panterra was growing steadily less comfortable with every step they took. If they inadvertently stumbled onto these beasts or if the beasts happened to catch sight of them following, he did not like to think of the consequences. Both Prue and he carried long knives and bows, but these were poor weapons against opponents of this size. A spear or sword would better serve them, but Trackers did not like to be burdened with heavy weapons and neither Pan nor Prue bore them.

  He thought some more about what they were doing, hunting creatures strong enough to kill two older and more experienced Trackers. He felt his reasons for doing so were good ones, but he had to wonder if he was displaying sufficient common sense. He knew that he and Prue were blessed with unusual talent and excellent instincts, but it would only take one slip for them to end up as two additional casualties with no one the wiser. He glanced momentarily at the girl, but she was concentrating on studying the way forward and paid him no attention. He did not see any doubt on her face.

  He quickly erased his own.

  The woods ahead grew increasingly dense, and the shadows dark. It was harder to see much of anything in the gloom, the sun unable to penetrate the heavy canopy. But that was where the tracks led.

  He slowed anyway, signaling to Prue. She looked over. “What?”

  He shook his head, not sure “what.” Something, though, was not right. He could feel it in his bones.

  “Still don’t sense anything?” he pressed.

  She shook her head no.

  He hesitated, wondering if she might be mistaken. But she had never been mistaken before. It was foolish to start doubting her now. “Let’s keep moving,” he said.

  They entered the woods, slipping noiselessly between the trunks of the trees, through the weeds and tall grasses. Because of the denseness of the foliage, they were forced to separate to avoid traveling in single file where only one could see ahead, working their way forward perhaps ten or twelve feet apart. The light faded, and the gloom deepened. There were no longer any tracks to follow, but broken stalks and scrapes on the bark marked the way. Good enough for now, Panterra thought. These were sufficient to keep them on the trail.

  Then abruptly the woods opened onto a swamp, a morass of grasses alive with buzzing insects and groundwater thick with pond scum. A wind blew foul and sour across the waters and into the trees, carrying the scents of death and decay.

  Panterra knew at once that he had made a mistake. He sank into a crouch, watching Prue, now almost fifteen feet away, do the same. While they had been tracking the creatures that had killed Bayleen and Rausha, the creatures had sensed them and led them to this bog. Swampy water ahead and a choking forest all about—it was a trap.

  A quick shiver ran down his spine. How had Prue missed this? Had the stench of the swamp somehow masked their presence? Was that why her instincts had failed her? He reached for his knife and slowly drew it from its sheath. Prue was too far away, he realized suddenly—too distant for him to protect. He cast about swiftly, searching for a sign that would tell him from which direction the attack would come.

  He found it almost immediately.

  The creatures were right behind him.

  THREE

  PANTERRA QU TOOK A DEEP BREATH AND STARTED to turn around to face whatever was there. But a voice as cold and hard as winter stopped him where he was.

  “Stay still. They know you’re here, but they don’t know exactly where yet. If you move, they will.”

  Pan was so shocked that he di
d what he was told without thinking. Whoever was speaking was right behind him, but obviously it wasn’t one of the creatures he was tracking. He had been mistaken about that.

  “Where are they?” he whispered, keeping his eyes focused on the swamp and its dense foliage. “I don’t see them.”

  “It’s a standoff then, boy. You don’t see them, and they don’t see you. No one sees anyone, do they? No, don’t move. Don’t try to turn around. Just stay still and listen to me.”

  Panterra shot a quick look over at Prue, who was staring at him in bewilderment. She didn’t see the speaker, either, and couldn’t figure out what Pan was doing just crouching there, staring out at the swamp. He made a small gesture for her to stay where she was.

  “Will she do as you say?” the speaker asked. “That was a Tracker sign. Are you both Trackers?”

  Pan nodded. “Yes.”

  “Kind of young for that sort of work. You must be good or know someone in the council. Do you come from Glensk Wood?”

  Pan nodded again. “Who are you?”

  “A friend. A good friend, as it turns out. I might even be able to save your life. Another few minutes, though, and I might have been too late. They’ve set you a trap.”

  “Have you been following them, too?” Pan tried to reason it through. “Or were you following us?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, boy. I was following them, but you cut across their tracks ahead of me. Anyone else, another Tracker, would have gone back to the village for help. Not you, though. Are you brave or stupid?”