Bearers of the Black Staff

by Terry Brooks

  Pogue Kray shook his head. “This session will continue as before. Young man. Panterra Qu, isn’t it? You seem certain of your story. But its parts are both clear and yet still vague in my mind. Enlighten me on a few of its points. How is it that Sider Ament came to find you when he hasn’t been seen in the valley in months?”

  “He had been tracking the creatures, too—from where he found they had breached the mists,” Panterra answered. “He caught up to us just in time to keep us from being killed.”

  “You and this young lady,” the big man said. He turned to Prue. “Is this boy’s story as you remember it? Or are there things you wish to add or subtract?”

  Prue rose to stand next to Pan. “Everything happened exactly as he said it did. I would change nothing.”

  “Still, it is an incredible tale, with ramifications that I don’t think either of you appreciate,” Pogue Kray pointed out. “Perhaps you need further time to consider the reliability of your memories.”

  Skeal Eile stepped forward once more. “Your advice is well given, Council Leader,” he said. “These are young people with little experience in the world. They tell a wild tale, one that suits their age and inexperience but strains belief. What they remember might not be exactly what they saw at the time. Is there any physical proof of what they tell us?”

  Pogue Kray nodded at Panterra. “Answer him.”

  Panterra shook his head reluctantly. “No, we have no physical proof. The swamp swallowed the creature that was killed. The other escaped. Sider Ament went after him.”

  “The wild man who lives as a hermit on the high slopes of our valley, the man who disdains the company of other men and pretends at being our guardian, carrying a relic that may or may not have come from another time.” He shook his head in dismay. “No one has ever seen this staff do the things you say you saw it do, young Panterra. Things of magic from out of the old world, things no one has seen in centuries. Not even the Elves. Isn’t it possible that you are mistaken in what you saw?”

  Panterra shook his head. “I know what I saw. I am a Tracker. I am not easily deceived.”

  “But you admit that deception is a possibility, even for a Tracker as skilled as you?” Skeal Eile stepped in smoothly, eyes locking on Panterra. “I know your reputation. You have special talent. But all of us can be tricked by our own senses and the deliberate deceptive efforts of others. That could have happened here.”

  Without waiting for Pan’s response, Skeal Eile turned to the assembled members of the community, raising his hands to draw their eyes and hold them.

  “Listen to me, now. Listen carefully. This story lacks foundation in the teachings of the Hawk. It goes contrary to everything we know to be true. For centuries, we have been kept safe by following those teachings, by studying them as we would the rules of life, by keeping them close to our hearts. To dismiss them now, to toss them aside as if they meant nothing, would be a travesty beyond understanding. And all on the word of a boy and a girl who rely heavily on what they heard and saw while in the company of a man whose origins and purposes are suspect in the extreme?”

  His hands swept the air and came down again. “We are the Children of the Hawk, and we know what the Hawk promised us. We know that he led us here to keep us safe and that when it is time to go out into the larger world again, when it is safe for us to do so, he will come for us. He will come as a sign or in the flesh reborn, but he will come. There will be no ending of the mists, no falling down of the protective wall, no intrusion of the world left behind, until the madness shut outside our homeland is dispelled forever. And he will be the one to bring us this message, not some hermit who has no better sense than to spread wild rumors.”

  A slow muttering had grown to a low chanting that filled the room and drew together the assemblage. Panterra glanced around uneasily, not able to quite grasp the words, but disliking their tone. Prue took his arm to catch his attention and shook her head, apparently thinking he was about to do something. Was he? He turned back to Pogue Kray.

  “What if he’s right?” he asked the council leader, lifting his voice so that everyone could hear it. “What if Sider Ament speaks the truth?”

  “Careful, boy,” Skeal Eile said quickly. “Your words verge on blasphemy. You risk your salvation as a Child of the Hawk.”

  Again the voices rose to shouts, sprinkled now with epithets that were clearly audible. Pogue Kray rose yet again, and yet again slammed his fist on the table.

  The crowd quieted, but the dark looks remained.

  “If you would speak, do so one at a time!” Pogue Kray rumbled blackly, his eyes sweeping the assemblage. “And do so with some care.”

  “I would speak,” a voice from the very back of the room declared, a voice that caused Panterra to turn at once.

  Aislinne Kray stepped out of the crowd at the back of the room and made her way forward. She was a tall, striking woman with long blond hair gone almost white, finely chiseled features that made her appear much younger than she was, and a determined walk that brooked no interference. Those in her way stepped back quickly, and voices went silent once more.

  When she reached the front of the room, she turned slightly so that she was addressing everyone. “I am ashamed for you,” she said quietly but firmly. “Ashamed and disappointed. What kind of people would attack a boy and a girl like this? I stand among you and hear you speak words like heretic and demon-spawn. I hear you suggest that they be cast out if they refuse to recant. A boy and a girl you have known all your lives. A boy and a girl who have proven themselves among the best of our Trackers, who have time and again done service to this village and its people by carrying out their duties with skill and dedication. Never once have their actions been questioned. Never once have they done anything to earn your scorn.”

  She paused, looking directly at Skeal Eile. “But now, for doing nothing more than bringing before you a message that could have significance for us all—and for keeping a promise made to a man who saved their lives—you would cast all that aside? You would declare them villains and worse?”

  “Enough, wife,” Pogue Kray interrupted wearily. “We take your point. But you must consider ours. This message casts doubt on everything we have held as truth for five centuries. We cannot accept that lightly.”

  “Nor do I say you should, husband,” Aislinne replied pointedly. “Incidentally, I am a member of this council, too. It would be reasonable for you to give me notice of these meetings.”

  “You were fifteen miles hence, in Woodstone Glen.” But Pogue Kray looked uncomfortable.

  “Too far for someone to come fetch me, I guess.” She was looking at Skeal Eile again. “But someone did fetch me, so here I am, and now I will be heard. Seraphic, you seem threatened by what this boy has to say. Can that be so? Are his words too dangerous to hear?”

  “His words directly contradict the teachings of our sect,” the other man replied, his voice gone smooth and pleasant once more. “We know our teachings to be truth. His words, therefore, must be lies.”

  “There is no objective scale by which to measure truth, Skeal Eile, when that truth is not written down. What we have are teachings passed by word of mouth over five centuries. There is room for error.”

  The muttering resumed suddenly, a low and sullen murmur, and Aislinne Kray wheeled on the crowd. “Are you thinking that I’m a heretic, too? Is anyone who questions the teachings of Skeal Eile automatically a heretic? Must we hew to the doctrine of the sect without question, or are we allowed to think for ourselves? Those the Hawk brought into this valley were people smart enough and strong enough to think for themselves or they would not have gotten here. Are we, their descendants, expected to do differently?”

  The voices died away. The silence was huge. “No one questions others’ right to think for themselves, Aislinne Kray,” Skeal Eile said softly, his smooth, calming voice drawing everyone back. “But we are not given the right or the leeway to blindly accept that for which there is no basis in fact.
I do not dismiss the boy’s story. I do not brand him a heretic. I simply point out the obvious. His message flies in the face of our teachings and is delivered by a man who has not been one of us for many years.”

  “Then this council session should end here and now, with no further disparagement of young Panterra,” she snapped. “He has kept his promise and delivered the message, and that is the end of it. If something more needs doing, I am sure our council leader will see to it that it is done.”

  “You do not decide when this council adjourns or when its work is done!” Pogue Kray thundered.

  She gave him a look and then wheeled away, long hair fanning out as she turned. “Come, Panterra. You look as if you could use a glass of ale and a hot meal. Prue Liss, you come with me, too. Whatever else needs doing, it can keep until tomorrow.”

  “I have further questions to ask of these Trackers, Aislinne,” Skeal Eile called after her, stepping forward as if he might try to detain them. “There are issues raised by their message that clearly fall within the purview of the Children of the Hawk. Our jurisdiction in such matters is not—”

  “Tomorrow will be soon enough for your questions,” Aislinne called back to him over her shoulder. She didn’t slow or look around. “Good night to you. Panterra? Prue?”

  Panterra glanced quickly at Pogue Kray, whose black brows were lowered and glowering. He waved them off with one beefy hand, dismissing them. “Go with her,” he ordered, ignoring the fresh protestations of Skeal Eile, who was bent over his shoulder and whispering in his ear. He rose to his feet and slammed his fist on the table. “Council is dismissed.”

  Panterra and Prue hurried to catch up with Aislinne, and in seconds they were through the door and into the empty black night.

  SIX

  AISLINNE KRAY STEPPED DOWN OFF THE VERANDA that fronted the council hall and looked over her shoulder at Panterra and Prue. “That wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” she said, and they could see the anger glittering in her green eyes.

  “So we’ve been told,” Pan admitted. “But don’t blame Prue; it was my idea. I knew what the reaction was likely to be.”

  Aislinne grunted. “I doubt that you have any idea even now what the reaction is likely to be.”

  “Pan just did what Sider Ament told him he needed to do,” Prue declared defensively. “He wasn’t trying to cause trouble. They didn’t have to attack him that way.”

  Panterra put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Maybe we ought to just go to bed.”

  “Not just yet,” Aislinne said at once. “I’m not finished with you. Is your house empty, Pan? Good. We’ll go there. We need to talk.”

  She led the way through the village, long hair fanning out like a veil, stride quick and sure on the familiar paths. The boy and the girl followed obediently, pulling their cloaks close as the chill night air bit at them, cold enough that it burned their exposed faces. Overhead, the sky was clear and filled with stars that spread across the firmament in a wash of white specks, thickly clustered and brilliant. The moon was down this night, and the stars shone brightly in its absence.

  When they reached Panterra’s lane, Aislinne paused while still within the cover of the trees to study the houses ahead. Saying nothing, she signaled to the boy and the girl to wait; then she stood silent and motionless for long minutes, watching.

  “Come,” she said finally, and started ahead once more.

  Moments later they were down the path and up the walkway to Panterra’s front door. The boy used his key and the three slipped inside to stand in the darkness.

  “Lock it behind you,” Aislinne ordered, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper. “Don’t turn on any lights. Where can we talk without someone outside being able to see us?”

  Pan led the way through the cottage, winding past the hearth with its now cold ashes from the morning’s fire, through the kitchen to the back stairway, and up the stairs to the loft where he made his bedroom. There, in a darkness broken only by the pale wash of starlight through windows beneath low-hanging eaves, they seated themselves on the floor in a tight circle.

  “Is there a reason for all this caution?” Panterra asked. He was careful to keep his own voice low. He found Aislinne’s green eyes in the near-dark.

  She gave him a look. “Don’t be stupid, Panterra. Of course there’s a reason!” She saw his bewilderment and shook her head. “You can’t possibly be that naïve. Your revelations have stirred up poisonous waters. Do you really not see it?”

  “You mean Skeal Eile?” Prue asked.

  Aislinne sighed. “Child, child. I mean five centuries of traditions and beliefs that have become a bedrock of faith for far too many of our people. You cannot challenge something so deeply ingrained without arousing strong resentment. Look now. How much do you know of the history of the Children of the Hawk?”

  Panterra and Prue exchanged a quick look. “Not much,” the boy admitted. “Only that they think the Hawk brought them here and that he will come for them again when it is time to leave the valley.”

  “That merely scratches the surface. Yes, they believe that. But they also believe that they are the chosen people, the ones who were saved when the rest of the world perished in the Great Wars. They see themselves as the future of civilization. They think that theirs is the way—the only way. The Seraphics have told them so for five centuries, and for five centuries they have been thought right because no challenge to their teachings has succeeded. Or should I say, no challenge has survived its voicing.”

  Prue shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the challengers have all recanted, fallen victim to unfortunate accidents or simply disappeared. Understand: the continued survival of the Children of the Hawk requires a surmounting of all attacks, real or perceived. This is about power and its usage—about the influence it generates and the coin it collects in the form of tithes and property. This is about who controls the populace and the land. On the surface of things, it would appear that my husband and the council do so, here in Glensk Wood. But underneath, where the truth of things lies hidden, it is another matter entirely. Skeal Eile and his minions hold all the power because the Seraphic speaks for the Hawk. In other times and places, it was other Seraphics. It has been so in the villages of Men since we came into this valley.”

  “So they see us as a danger?” Panterra asked in disbelief. “Just for bringing Sider Ament’s message?”

  “They see you as a perceived danger,” Aislinne corrected. “And that is enough for them to want to do something about you.”

  “They will want us to recant?”

  “At best—and I wouldn’t be too quick to assume the best.” She gave him a long look. “It is because of who sent the message that I say this, Panterra. Sider Ament is an unusual man with unusual abilities. Most think him a wanderer of strange habits and wild imaginings. They think he might even be demented. They know nothing of the truth of him, as I do. But what matters here is that his distancing of himself from the communities does not always serve him well. Not just in his lack of appreciation of the power of the Children of the Hawk. But also in his failure to realize what even the simple delivery of a message could result in for the messenger. He should not have asked of you what he did.”

  She rocked back. “If I hadn’t discovered what was happening and returned to intervene, I think you might be spending this night under very different circumstances.”

  “Were you sent away deliberately?” Prue asked. “Or tricked into leaving?”

  “No, it was nothing like that. My husband, for all he lacks in backbone and common sense, would not stoop to that.” She allowed herself a small smile. “He is not the man he was, I regret, not the man I married all those years ago before he fell under the influence of the sect. But neither is he duplicitous or cunning. Circumstances put me in another place, not Pogue Kray, although he would have been happy if I had stayed where I was. Especially since I am certain Skeal Eile suggested
that no harm could come of it, that the balance of the council members would act in my stead.”

  “How did you find out what was happening?” Panterra was confused. “Barely twenty-four hours passed between our return and the meeting.”

  She rocked back slightly, and the smile returned. “I have friends, Panterra. Some of them are your friends, too. One, in particular. One who cares about you both. He brought me warning of what was to happen, and I came back at once.”

  “Brickey,” Prue guessed.

  She nodded. “You can thank him when you see him again. But that might not be right away. After we’ve finished here, you will need to pack and leave Glensk Wood.”

  The boy and the girl stared at her. “Leave?” Prue repeated. “We can’t do that!”

  Panterra nodded quickly. “We have to stay and convince the council of what—”

  “The time for that has come and gone,” Aislinne interrupted, brushing aside his objection with a wave of her hand. “You had your chance this evening, such as it was, and you failed. It won’t get any better from here on out. Not without physical proof of what you claim. Or what Sider Ament claims, although now you’re perceived to be his agent and the message as much yours as his.”

  “But that’s not …”

  She held up a finger in warning, silencing him once more. “The problem confronting you is much greater than the message itself. Skeal Eile fears the message, but he fears you, as well. You have seen things that could be a threat to his power. You might continue to report what you’ve seen to others, and eventually someone might start to listen. It would be best, he’ll reason soon enough—if he hasn’t already—if you were no longer around to talk about it.”

  “He would kill me?” Panterra asked incredulously, and he almost laughed at the idea.

  “But that’s ridiculous!” Prue exclaimed. “He wouldn’t do that! Everyone knows Pan! They wouldn’t stand for it!”

  “He won’t do it himself; he will have it done by others. It will not appear as if he had a hand in it.” She paused. “He has done this before to those by whom he felt threatened. He is a dangerous man, and you have crossed him.”