Word & Void 02 - A Knight of the Word

by Terry Brooks

  He paused. “And so she must decide where she will stand. Because of who she is. Because, as with you and me, she has an obligation and a responsibility to do so.”

  Nest shook her head in dismay. “But I don’t know what …”

  A big hand came up swiftly to cut her short. “Because, if the young woman does not help him,” he said carefully, his rough voice leaning heavily on each word, “he will be lost forever.”

  She nodded, her breath tight in her throat.

  “Because, if the young woman fails, the lady has made other arrangements.” Two Bears leaned so close that his broad face was only inches from her own. His voice became a whisper. “She cannot allow her champion to serve another cause, one that would be harmful to her own. She cannot allow her talisman to fall into the hands of her enemies.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. It was the same message the Lady had given Ariel. If John Ross succumbed to the Void, he would be killed. But how did you kill a Knight of the Word? Who was strong enough? Who had a weapon more powerful than his?

  Two Bears rose abruptly, and she with him. They stood close, looking out over the bay. The wind blew in chilly gusts off the water, causing Nest to shiver.

  “As I said, it is only a story. Who knows if it is true? There are so many stories like it. Fairy tales. But the young woman reminded me of you.” Two Bears folded his massive arms. “Tell me. If you were the young woman in this story, what would you do?”

  She looked up at him, tall, broad-shouldered, and implacable. She was suddenly frightened. “I don’t know.”

  He smiled at her, and the smile was warm. “Don’t be so sure of that. Maybe you know better than you think.”

  She took hold of his arm. “If this is only a story, then it must have an ending. Tell it to me.”

  He said nothing, and his smile turned chilly. Her hands fell away. “There are many endings to this story. They change over time and with the teller. The stories of the Sinnissippi were all changed when my people perished. The endings would be different if they had survived, but they did not. I know this much. If you make the story your own, then the ending becomes yours to tell as you wish.”

  He was leaving, and when he did so she would lose any chance of gaining his help. She fought down the desperation that flooded through her. “Don’t go,” she begged.

  “Our paths have crossed twice now, little bird’s Nest,” the Sinnissippi said. “I would not be surprised if they were to cross again.”

  “You could help me,” she hissed, pleading with him.

  He shook his head and placed his big hands on her slender shoulders. “Perhaps it is for you to help me. If I were the lady in the story, in the event all else failed, I would send someone to take back the talisman from my fallen champion, someone strong enough to do so, someone who knew much about death and did not fear it, because he had embraced it many times before.” He paused. “Someone like me.”

  Nest’s throat knotted in horror. Images of the past flooded through her mind. In Sinnissippi Park, on the Fourth of July, five years earlier, when he had appeared so mysteriously and done so much to help her find the courage she needed to face her father, she had seen nothing of this. She stared at him in disbelief, unable to give voice to what she was thinking.

  “Speak my name,” the big man said softly.

  “O’olish Amaneh,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “It sounds good when you say it. I will remember that always.”

  One hand pointed. “Look. Over there, where the mountains and the forests and the lakes shine in the sunlight. Look closely, little bird’s Nest. It will remind you of home.”

  She did as he asked, compelled by his voice. She stared out expectantly at a vista of white and green and blue, at a panorama that extended for miles, at a sweep of country that was so beautiful it took her breath away. Ferry boats churned through the bay below. Sailboats tacked into the wind. The late afternoon sun beat down on the foaming waters, reflecting in bright silver bursts off the wave caps. The forests of the islands and peninsula were lush and inviting. The mountains shone.

  Two Bears was right, she thought suddenly. It did make her think of home.

  But when she turned to tell him so, he was gone.

  Chapter 14

  John Ross had told Nest he had already been warned of the consequences of his refusal to continue as a Knight of the Word. What he hadn’t told her was that the warning had been delivered by O’olish Amaneh.

  As he rode the trolley back up to Pioneer Square and the offices of Fresh Start, thinking through everything Nest had said, he recalled anew the circumstances of that visit.

  It was not long after he met Stef and before they started living together. He was still residing in Boston and auditing classes at the college. It was just after Christmas, sometime in early January, and a heavy snow had left everything blanketed in white. The sky was thickly clouded, and a rise in the temperature following a deep cold spell had created a heavy mist that clung to the landscape like cotton to Velcro and slowed traffic to a crawl. It was the perfect day to stay indoors, and that was what he was doing. He was in his apartment, finished with his classes, working his way through a book on behavioral science, when the door (which he was certain he had locked) opened and there stood the Indian.

  Ross remembered his panic. If he had been able to do so, he would have bolted instantly, run for his life, consequences and appearances be damned. But he was settled back in his easy chair, encumbered by his book and various notepads, so there was no possibility of leaping up to escape. His staff lay on the floor beside him, but he didn’t bother to reach for it. He knew, without having ever been given any real proof of it, that trying to use the staff’s magic against O’olish Amaneh, even in self-defense, would be a big mistake.

  “What do you want?” he asked instead, fighting to keep his voice steady.

  O’olish Amaneh stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. He was wearing a heavy winter parka, which he unzipped and removed. Underneath, he wore fatigue pants and combat boots, a checked flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a fisherman’s vest with mesh pockets. A wide leather belt with a silver buckle bound his waist, metal bracelets encircled his wrists, and a beaded cord held back his long, black hair. His blunt features were wind-burnt and raw with the cold, and his dark eyes were flat and empty as they fixed on Ross.

  He crossed his arms over his massive chest with the parka folded between them, but made no move to come closer. “You are making a mistake,” he rumbled.

  Ross put aside the book and notepads and straightened slightly. “Did the Lady send you?”

  “What did I tell you, John Ross, about trying to cast off the staff?”

  “You told me not to. Ever.”

  “Did you not believe me?”

  “I believed you.”

  “Did you fail to realize that when I told you not to cast off the staff, I meant spiritually as well as physically?”

  Ross’s mouth and throat went dry. This was the Lady’s response to his attempt to return the staff at the Fairy Glen. This was her answer to his abdication of his responsibilities as a Knight of the Word. She had sent O’olish Amaneh to discipline him. He still remembered the Indian delivering the staff to him fifteen years earlier, forcing him to take it against his will. He remembered the pain when he had touched the staff for the first time and the magic had bound them as one, joining them irrevocably and forever. He was terrified then. And now.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  O’olish Amaneh studied him expressionlessly. “What should I do?”

  Ross took a deep breath. “Take back the staff. Return it to the Lady.”

  The Indian shook his head. “I cannot do that. It is not permitted. Not while you remain a Knight of the Word.”

  Ross leaned forward in the chair and pushed himself to his feet. Whatever was going to happen, he wanted to be standing for it. He reached for the staff and used it to lean upon
as he faced the big man. “I am no longer a Knight of the Word. I quit. I tried to tell the Lady, but she wouldn’t speak to me. Maybe you can tell her. I just can’t do it anymore. The truth is, I don’t want to do it.”

  O’olish Amaneh sighed impatiently. “Listen closely to me. When you become a Knight of the Word, you become one forever. You cannot stop. The choice is not yours to make. You accepted a charge, and the charge is yours until it is lifted. That has not been done. The staff cannot be returned. You cannot send it back. That is the way things are.”

  Ross came forward a step, stumbling against a pile of books and magazines and nearly falling. “Do you know what happened to me?” he asked angrily. “At San Sobel?”

  The Indian nodded. “I know.”

  “Then why is it so hard for you to understand that I want to quit? I don’t want to have what happened at San Sobel ever happen again! I can’t stand for it to happen again! So I quit, now, forever, and that’s the end of it, and I don’t care what the rules are!”

  He knew he had crossed some line, but he didn’t care. Even his fear could not control him. He hated who and what he had been. He had met Stefanie, and there was something special happening there. For the first time in years, he was feeling alive again.

  The Indian walked right up to him, and Ross flinched in spite of himself, certain he was about to be struck. But the big man stopped before reaching him, and the flinty eyes bore deep into his own.

  “Did you think, when you accepted your charge, you would make no mistakes in carrying it out? Did you think no innocents would die as a result of your actions? Did you think the world would change because you had agreed to serve, and the strength of your convictions alone would be enough to save the lives you sought to protect? Is that what you thought, John Ross? Were you so full of pride and arrogance? Were you such a fool?”

  Ross flushed, but held his tongue.

  “Let me tell you something about yourself.” The Indian’s words were as sharp as knives. “You are one man serving a cause in which many have given their lives. You are one man in a long line of men and women, one only, and not so special that you could ever afford to hope you might make a significant difference. But you have done the best you could, and no more was ever asked. The war between the Word and the Void is a long and difficult one, and it has been waged since the beginning of time. It is in the nature of all life that it must be waged. That you were chosen to take up the Word’s cause is an honor. It should be enough that you have been given a chance to serve.

  “But you disgrace yourself and our cause by denigrating its purpose and abdicating your office. You shame yourself by choosing to renounce your calling. Who do you think you are? The burden of those children’s deaths is not yours to bear. Yours is not the hand that took their lives; yours was not the will that decreed those lives must be sacrificed. Such choices and acts belong to a power higher than your own.”

  Ross felt the tendons in his neck go taut with his rage. “Well, it feels as if they are my responsibility, and I’m the one who has to live with the consequences of their dying because of my efforts or lack thereof, and blaming it on the Word or fate or whatever is a whole lot of bullshit! Don’t try to tell me it isn’t something I should think about! Don’t try to tell me that! I do think about it! I think about it every day of my life. I see the faces of those children, dying in front of me. I see their eyes …”

  He wheeled away, tears blurring his vision. He felt defeated. “I can’t do it anymore, and that’s all there is to it. You can’t make me do it, O’olish Amaneh No one can.”

  He went silent, waiting for whatever was going to happen next, half believing this was the end for him and not caring if it was.

  But the Indian did not move. He was so still he might have been carved from stone.

  “The consequences of accepting responsibility for the lives of others are not always pleasant. But neither are the consequences of abdicating that same responsibility. What is certain is that you cannot pretend to be someone other than who you are. You made a choice, John Ross. Failure and pain are a part of the price of your choice, but you cannot change that by telling yourself the choice was not binding. It was. It is.”

  The big man’s voice dropped to a whisper. “By behaving as you do, you present a danger to yourself. Your self-deception places you at great risk. Whatever you believe, you are a Knight of the Word. You cannot be otherwise. The creatures of the Void know this. They will come for you. They will steal your soul away. They will make you their own.”

  Ross shook his head slowly. “No, they won’t. I won’t let them.”

  “You won’t be able to stop it.”

  Ross met his gaze. “If they make the attempt, I will resist. I will resist to the point of dying, if that’s what it takes. I may no longer be in service to the Word, but I will never serve the Void. I will never do that.”

  O’olish Amaneh looked out the window into the snow-covered landscape, into the somnolent white. “The Void wants your magic at its service, and it will do what it takes to obtain it. Subverting you will take time and effort and will require great deception, but it will happen. You may not even realize it until it is too late. Think, John Ross. Do not lie to yourself.”

  Ross held out the black staff. “If you take this from me now, the Void can do nothing. The solution is simple.”

  The Indian made no move. He kept his gaze directed away, his body still. “Others have suffered a loss of faith. Others have tried to abandon their charges. Others like you. They have been warned. Some thought they were strong. They have all been lost. One way or the other, they have been lost.”

  He looked at Ross, solemn-faced and sad-eyed. “You will go down the same path if you do not heed me.”

  They faced each other in silence, eyes locked. Then O’olish Amaneh turned without a word and went out the door and was gone, and John Ross did not see him again.

  But he thought about him now, riding the trolley to Pioneer Square, stepping off onto the platform at Main, and walking back to the offices of Fresh Start. He thought about everything Two Bears had told him. The Indian and Nest had given him essentially the same warning, a veiled suggestion that the danger he posed by refusing to continue as a Knight of the Word would not be ignored and that measures would be taken to bring him back in line.

  But did those measures include eliminating him? Would the Lady really send someone to kill him? He thought maybe she would. After all, five years ago he had been sent to kill Nest Freemark in the event she failed to withstand the assault of her demon father. Why should it be any different now, with him? They could not chance losing him to the Void. They could not let him become a weapon for their enemy.

  Lost in thought, he slowed as he approached the entry to the shelter. Why did everyone think such a thing could happen? What could the Void possibly do to subvert him that he wouldn’t recognize and resist? There was his dream, of course, and the danger that it might somehow come to pass and he would kill Simon Lawrence. But the events of that dream would never happen. There was no reason for them to happen. And in any case, he didn’t really believe his dream and the Lady’s warning were connected.

  He shook his head stubbornly. Only one thing bothered him about all this. Why had the Lady sent Nest to warn him? She could just as easily have sent Ariel. He would have given the tatterdemalion’s warning the same consideration he was giving Nest’s. Why send the girl? The Lady couldn’t possibly believe that Nest would have a greater influence on him than O’olish Amaneh. No, something else was going on, something he didn’t understand. His instincts told him so.

  He walked into the reception area at Fresh Start, said hello to Della, gave Ray Hapgood a perfunctory wave on his way back to the office, and closed the door behind him. He sat in his chair with his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands, and tried to think it through.

  What was he missing? What was it about Nest’s coming to find him that was so troubling?

  He was gettin
g exactly nowhere when Stefanie Winslow walked in.

  “You’re back,” she said. “How did it go?”

  He blinked. “How did what go?”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “Your lunch with your old flame’s daughter. I assume that’s where you’ve been.” She took the chair across from him. “So tell me about it.”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject. “There’s nothing to tell. She was in town and decided to look me up. I don’t know how she even knew I was here. I haven’t seen or spoken with her in five years. And that stuff about her mother is—”

  “I know, I know. It was a long time ago, and her mother is dead. She told us before you came back.” Stef brushed back her dark hair and crossed her long legs. “It must have been quite a shock to see her again.”

  “Well, it was a surprise, anyway. But we had a nice talk.”

  He had never told Stef anything about his past or the people in it, save for stories about his boyhood when he was growing up in Ohio. He had never told her about his service as a Knight of the Word, about the Lady or Owain Glyndwr or O’olish Amaneh. She did not know about his dreams. She did not know of the war between the Word and the Void or the part he had played in it. She did not know of his magic. As far as he knew, she had no concept of the feeders. Having Nest Freemark appear unexpectedly, come out of a past he had so carefully concealed from her, was unnerving. He did not want to tell her about any of that. He traced his present life to the moment he had met her, and everything that went before to another life entirely.

  Stef studied his face. “Simon says she’s some kind of world-class runner, that she might even win a gold medal in the next Olympics. That’s pretty impressive.”

  He nodded noncommittally. “I gather she’s pretty good.”

  “Is she in town for very long? Did you think to ask her to have dinner with us?”