by Farris, John
"You made it," Whit said gratefully. "Thought I was—the only one."
There was blood on the robe, on Whit's right hand.
"What happened to you, Colonel?" Arn asked him.
"Oh—" Whit searched for an explanation. "Shot, I guess." He touched his left shoulder. "Here."
Terry said, his voice cracking, "Who shot you?"
"Long story," Whit said. "Don't know if—you'll believe it."
"I'll believe anything now," Arn muttered.
Whit looked at Faren, who was examining the baby in the soggy blanket. "Is she okay?"
"Just wet and hungry," Faren assured him. "And isn't she a little beauty?"
"My sister," Whit said, smiling, awed and proud.
Terry straightened and glanced at the baby, then looked in disbelief at his father.
"What's that, another long story?"
"Yeah," Whit said, closing his eyes, breathing deeply but without discomfort.
Arn said, "Colonel, can you make it? We got a ways to go yet."
"I'll be all right. Slept a couple of hours in the hut. Faren, there's a dry blanket in the perambulator, and a baby bottle. But the milk's not good."
"I'll find something around this place for her tummy; juice, maybe canned milk." She crooned to the redly squawling infant. "Yessss I will! Don't you worry about a thing, cutie."
Terry said stonily, "What are we going to do with a baby?"
Whit gave a slight shake of the head; he didn't know. Faren, holding the infant against her breast, shot him a look and then turned to her husband. Arn's jaw sagged a little when he comprehended the gleam in her eye.
"Don't you say a blessed word, Arn," Faren told him. "She's perfect. She's beautiful. And she needs us."
"I can't think of two people I'd rather have looking after her, Arn."
"Has she got a name?" Arn said, still in shock.
"Laurette," Whit told him.
Arn tried to think of something else to say. He settled for, "That's some pair of lungs."
They all listened to the baby crying, as if the sounds she made had a certain sanctity.
"And we need her, don't we, Arn?" Faren said.
Arn looked at her steadily for a long time, and stopped squirming.
"Yeah," he said. "Maybe we do."
"Well," Faren said, "I'll just get her out of this wet dress, and then we'd better be on our way."
Terry turned and walked away from them. Whit, grimacing, sat up.
"Where're you going, son?"
"Not going anywhere. I'm staying here."
"Why?"
"Because—" he stopped several feet away, hands clenched, but wouldn't face them. "I have to—wait for Josie, that's all."
"Kid," Arn said, "there ain't nothing left of Josie, take my word for it."
"No!" He was close to breaking then. He sniffed several times and got his voice under control. He looked at them with eyes flushed by fever, by his passion to be understood. "If dad got out, then Josie could've too." He cut Arn off before he could speak. "And maybe you don't know what you saw in the chateau! I don't think she's dead, that's all, I just d-don't believe it! And—and look at this place, it's deserted, there's nobody who can take care of her when she—"
"Terry," Whit said firmly, "we've all had a rough time, and you're just making things worse."
"Your daddy needs lookin' after by a doctor, and the baby—"
"I don't care! Go on! I'm staying. You can't make me go."
Faren gazed thoughtfully at him, then looked at Arn. She whispered something Terry couldn't hear. Then she went into the hut behind them and after a while the baby stopped crying. Arn apparently decided to ignore Terry. He kneeled beside Whit.
"Why don't I have a look at that shoulder? Maybe there's somethin' I can do that'll make it easier on you."
"Thanks, Arn." Whit paid no further attention to his son either.
So they were going to treat him like a kid. Hurt and indignant, frightened and dismayed, Terry walked across the broad croquet lawn, stooping to pick up a mallet. Fortifying himself, if only symbolically. The sun was full in his face but he shivered. He knew he was sick; nevertheless he wasn't going with them now no matter what. Josie was coming back. He would wait for her.
Bocephus barked gruffly and Terry turned to see that Arn had come halfway across the mossy lawn toward him.
"Okay," Arn said. "We're goin' now. We talked it over, and you can stay, if that's what you want. I'll leave Bo here for company. Be back this time tomorrow. Maybe by then you'll be satisfied."
"Okay," Terry said, surprised.
"One more thing. Don't go in the woods, or I'll never find you."
Arn rejoined Whit and Faren, who had washed and put on a Walkout's robe. She carried the swaddled, sleeping baby. Bocephus sat down beside Terry, who put a hand on his collar. His father turned with a wave of his good hand. Arn had made a sling for him, but he was obviously still in pain. His movements were slow and his head was down; Terry felt a pang of regret not to be with him. He watched until they were shadows amid deeper shadows, until no trace of them remained. Terry began to cry and momentarily hated himself for it; but to cry felt good, and it let out much of the hurting. Calmed, he could think more clar1y.
He was hungry, and Bo had to be hungry too. In one of the huts he found jerked venison for the hound to chew on. The meat was unappetizing to Terry, but a larder of fruit and nuts he discovered filled his belly. There was more cool water to drink.
He was too tired to move around much, and he had no curiosity about how the other Walkouts had lived. They had been freaks, but Josie was his love. He avoided her hut and stayed outdoors, resting with his back against a tree while Bocephus dozed on his side, drawing flies. Much of the time Terry looked at the pale sky, expectantly, willing Josie to appear in an elegant spread of wings, more beautiful than any ship under sail. Squirrels played in the branches above his head. He saw an eagle. So much to remember, all of the sweet moments concentrated into one image, her green eyes on him, watching, somewhere. The lengthening day brought clouds, thunder, rain. He crept then into Josie's hut, stared at the empty saddle-bed, lay down on the bearskin she had provided, his head aching and burning. Bocephus occupied the doorway.
A wind that shook the hut awakened him, in darkness. The saddle-bed swayed and creaked. He sat up dizzily, half-blinded by a flash of lightning. Bocephus was yowling, far from the hut.
Someone was there.
With a hand on the saddle-bed, his heart trying to squeeze into his throat, Terry pulled himself up.
"Josie?"
The fever had broken, he was wet all over. Lightning again. He saw the glare of a curved hand ax, the tall goatman standing in the doorway, his narrow head thrust forward, cornucopia of horns waxen in the shrinking light. Terry had dreamed, but of nothing like this.
"Taharqa!"
The goatman turned and left the hut, although his after-image remained fixed for a few moments on Terry's retinas. Terry scrambled after him, into another blast of lightning, and earth-shaking thunder.
"Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?"
The Ethiopian turned and looked at him, the goat's face oddly jeering in the brilliant silver light. How, Terry wondered, had he escaped the chateau? Or had he gone there at all?
"Take me to Josie!" Terry pleaded.
The goatman slowly raised his ax; Terry's blood chilled. But it was not a threatening gesture; he moved the ax slowly in the air, beckoning.
"Do you want me to follow you?"
Bocephus came up behind Terry, thrusting his nose into the hollow of a knee; Terry jumped. When he looked again for Taharqa he saw the goatman moving uphill through evergreens restless as the sea, homed head gleaming beneath a polished pewter sky. Terry ran to keep up, but was unable to match the black man's barefoot stride. He didn't think about where he was going, or even if it was sensible to follow (Don't go in the woods, Arn had told him). But was it accidental that Taharqa had found him in Jo
sie's hut, and wanted him to follow? Maybe she had fallen from the sky, maybe she was dying—no, it couldn't be. If Taharqa could get to her, he would have brought her to Walkout Town.
She was all right, then. She had come through alive.
Anticipation sharpened Terry's reflexes, he felt strong and happy. And when he fell too far behind, lost track of Taharqa, the goatman always paused until Terry had him in sight again.
Wind, lightning, thunder, but no rain. He was thoroughly lost, but it didn't matter. He was going to Josie. This was her home, the wild wood.
At first he didn't recognize the place to which he had been led. The wind was milder at the crest of this treeless hill, stars were visible behind thinning dark cloud.
"Where are we?" he said, going down on one knee to catch his breath. Bocephus flopped down beside him. But the goatman stood tall against the sky, hand ax sheathed, his own chest barely moving as he breathed.
Taharqa pointed to something Terry couldn't see, a short distance away in the darkness.
"Is it Josie?" He lunged eagerly to his feet and jogged, hurting from a stitch in the side, in the direction Taharqa had indicated.
Then he came to a panicky stop at the lip of the quarry. Stared into its depths, at the square of pool some sixty feet below. Looked up at the silent Ethiopian.
"No! God! No!"
Taharqa slowly lowered his hand, turned his back on him.
Terry slumped down at the edge of the pool. He had seen Faren leap from almost the exact spot where he was sitting. He had been about to follow her, but Josie had pulled him back.
Terry lifted his head and cried, "Is that where she is?"
The goatman had vanished.
Terry shuddered. He sat for a long time with his head on his knees, hurting so bad he didn't want to move. The wind had died. Faraway lightning flickered soundlessly: beneath the clouds around Tormentil Mountain. Was the chateau still there, and would it be there forever?
He could find out.
This time she wasn't hovering in the air, ready to seize him.
She was on the other side, or just below the surface of the eerie pool, waiting for him.
If he had the courage to go to her.
Josie.
He was ready now. On his hands and knees he leaned forward, looking down, fascinated, remembering how it had appeared to him, that swarming, dreadful green pool
You don't have the protection, Josie had warned him.
Yes I do! I have you, Josie.
Ready, he thought. His throat closed. He couldn't breathe. He leaned out a little farther, over the brink.
The green pool wasn't there.
In its place was the universe. He saw it whole, in stunning clarity. Not the blackness of space, the chaos of creation, but the blue of beatitude, the peace of eternity.
He knew then why Josie had summoned him, he knew where she was now. She had wanted him to know, and not grieve. She was not lost, nor in torment. She lived in beauty, quick as light. So did all the others, he was sure, those unfortunate souls who had populated the Well of Sorrow. Something stirred in the night beside him. He withdrew from the edge of the quarry. His cheek was brushed, devotedly. It was a fleeting touch that would never be repeated: maybe it was only a memory. His eye was drawn to a particular star in a field of stars. He didn't know what was different about it, but his heart felt good; and so he watched till morning.
