Word & Void 02 - A Knight of the Word

by Terry Brooks

  Feeders streamed through the trees, leaping wildly, shadows with eyes, gathered for the kill.

  But as the demon lunged for Nest, rising up against the night, Ariel threw herself into its path, a white blur against the dark, and collapsed around its head like a child’s bedsheet. Demon and tatterdemalion went down in a tangled heap, rolling over and over on the muddied earth. Nest backed away, staring in horror at the thrashing dark knot. In seconds all that remained of Ariel was a silken white shroud that clung tenaciously to the momentarily blinded demon.

  Then even that was gone, and the demon was clawing its way back to its feet, snarling in fury.

  Nest, momentarily transfixed by the struggle taking place before her, wheeled to flee once more. But she had lost her sense of direction entirely, forgetting the bend in the trail and the low rail fence at her back. She took one quick stride and toppled right over the fence. She was up again instantly, thrashing at the heavy brush, trying to escape its clinging embrace. Then the ground disappeared beneath her feet, and she was falling head over heels down a rain-slicked slope. She groped futilely for something to hang on to, skidding and sliding along slick bare earth and through long grass, careening off bushes and exposed tree roots, the darkness whirling about her in a kaleidoscope of distant lights and falling rain. Her stomach lurched with each sudden change of direction, and she tucked in her arms and legs and covered her head with her hands, waiting for something to slow her.

  When she hit the base of the precipice, the breath was knocked from her lungs and her head was left spinning. She lay where she was for an instant, listening to the sound of the rain. Then she was back on her feet and running, dazed and battered, but otherwise unhurt. A wide, grassy embankment stretched along the base of the cliffs, fronting the dark, choppy waters of Puget Sound, and a concrete path paralleled the water’s edge. She wheeled left down the path, heading for the lights of the residences that lay closest.

  Already she could hear the sounds of the demon’s pursuit. It was coming down the cliff face after her, scrambling through the brush and grasses, branches and roots snapping as it tore through them. She gritted her teeth against her fear and rage. Feeders ran at her side, an unshakable presence. Her windbreaker was muddied and torn, pieces of it flapping wildly against her body. If she could reach the houses outside the park, she would have a chance. Her lungs burned as she forced herself to run faster. Again she thought to turn and face the thing that chased her, to summon up the magic that had protected her so often before. But she had no way of knowing if she still had the use of it, and no time to find out.

  Her feet splashed loudly through the rain that puddled on the concrete, spraying surface water everywhere. Her clothing was soaked through, and her curly hair was plastered to her head. She could no longer see or hear the demon, but she knew it was back there. She thought of Ariel, and tears filled her eyes. Dead because of her. All of them—Boot, Audrey, and Ariel—dead because of her. She ran faster, sweeping past grassy picnic areas with tables and iron cookers, swing sets and benches, and a small pavilion with a wooden roof and a concrete floor. To her right, the sound lapped against the shoreline, driven by the wind. The world about her was a vast, empty, rain-swept void.

  She wished desperately that Wraith was there. Wraith would protect her. Wraith would be a match for the demon. A part of her, deep inside, shrieked defiantly that he was still there and would come if she summoned him. She almost thought to do so, to wheel back and call for him, to bring him to her side once more. But Wraith was gone, disappeared over a year ago, and there was no reason to think he would come to her now, after so long.

  She cast aside the last of her futile wishes for what couldn’t be, and concentrated on gaining the safety of the city streets. She could see the residences clearly now, bulky shapes hunkered down against the misty gloom, lights a blurry yellow through rain-streaked windows. She could see cars moving on the street further south, distant still, but recognizable.

  She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. In the darkness, beyond the feeders trailing after her, the demon’s larger shape was visible.

  The concrete path rose ahead of her, leading out of the park’s lower regions. She swept up the rise without slowing, ignoring the hot, raw feeling in her lungs and the cramping in her stomach. She was not going to give up. She was not going to die. She gained the summit of the rise, broke through the empty parking lot, and was on the street.

  She crossed in a gust of wind and rain that blew sideways at her, making for the houses on the other side. The park was a black mass behind her, an impenetrable wall of darkness, the jagged tips of the ancient trees piercing the skyline. The street was momentarily empty of cars; she would find no help there. The feeders stayed with her, keeping pace easily, yellow eyes gleaming in the night. She ignored them, concentrating on the houses ahead. Several were dark or poorly lit, and there was no sign of life. She passed them by. Please, she prayed silently, let someone be home! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement behind her at the head of the pathway leading out of the park. The demon was coming.

  There was a brightly lit picture window in a brick cottage that lay ahead, and she could see a man reading a newspaper in an easy chair. She crossed the lawn in a rush, leaped onto the cement steps, and tried to wrench open the screen door. It was locked. She pounded on it wildly, looking over her shoulder as she did. The demon was in the middle of the street, its massive body stretched out as it ran, coming straight for her. All around her the feeders leaped and scrambled anxiously. She hissed at them and pounded on the door again.

  The heavy inner door opened and the man stood there, staring at her through the screen with a mix of irritation and surprise that quickly changed to shock when he got a better look.

  “Please, let me in,” she begged, trying to keep her voice even, to keep the fear out of it. She could see herself reflected in his glasses, disheveled, muddied, scraped, and bruised.

  “Good Lord, young lady!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed. He was an older man, white-haired and slightly stooped. He peered at her doubtfully. “What happened to you?”

  He was still talking to her through the screen. She felt her desperation threaten to overwhelm her, felt the demon’s breath on her neck, its claws and teeth on her body. “An accident!” she gasped. “I need to call for help! Please!”

  He unfastened the latch now, finally, and the moment he began to crack the door, she wrenched it open and rushed inside, ignoring his startled surprise as she pushed him aside, slamming the screen door, then the inner door, and locking them both.

  The man stared at her. “Young lady, what in the world …”

  “There’s something chasing me …” she began.

  The demon slammed into the screen door from the other side with such force that it tore it off entirely. Then it hammered into the inner door, once, twice, and the hinges began to loosen.

  “What in God’s name?” gasped the older man as he stumbled backward in fright.

  “Get out of here!” she shouted, racing past him for the back of the house. “Call the police!”

  The demon was hammering into the door, pounding at it in fury. It meant to have her, and it didn’t care what stood in its way. She raced down a hall into a kitchen, where an older woman stood washing dishes at a sink. The woman looked up in surprise, blinked, and stared at her with the same look of shock as the man.

  “Get out of the house now!” Nest screamed at her.

  Sorry, sorry, sorry! she apologized silently as she raced out the back door into the night.

  Rain and wind beat at her. The storm was growing worse. She glanced left and right into the darkness, then broke across the backyard, heading north once more. If she could reach the service station the taxi driver had told her about, she could call for help there. Porch lights came on in a few of the houses around her. She could no longer hear the sound of the demon trying to break down the door of the house she had abandoned. That meant it knew she was gone and was c
oming for her again.

  She crossed through several backyards before coming to a fence. She would have to climb it or go back out front. Rain and sweat streaked her forehead and spilled into her eyes. Her strength was ebbing. She wheeled left along the fence and raced for the street once more.

  When she broke into the open, she was alone but for one or two feeders; the rest had fallen away. There was no sign of the demon. She felt a moment of elation, then saw a flicker of movement behind her. In a panic, she raced toward the street. A car swept out of the darkness, its tires throwing up spray, and she ran for it, waving her arms and yelling. But the car never slowed, and a moment later she was alone again. In the fading sweep of the car’s headlights, she caught a momentary glimpse of the demon charging toward her. She turned back to the houses, searching. There was a two-story with a glassed-in porch and lights in almost every window. She made for that one. Cars lined the curbing in front. A party was in progress. She felt a hot rush of satisfaction. This time she would find the help she needed.

  She raced up the steps and yanked on the handle of the porch door. The door opened easily, and she was inside in the blink of an eye. She slammed the door behind her, threw the lock, rushed to the front door, and began to pound. Inside, she could hear the sound of laughter and music. She pounded harder.

  The door opened. A young woman dressed in a sweater and jeans stood there, holding a drink in her hand and staring in disbelief.

  “Please let me in!” Nest began once more. “There’s someone after me, and I need to call—”

  A storm window flew apart in an explosion of jagged shards as the demon crashed onto the porch and slammed into the front wall of the house, snarling and snapping at the air with its massive jaws and hooked teeth. The young woman screamed in terror, and Nest shoved her back inside the house, followed her in, slammed the door shut, and threw the bolt lock. The young woman went down in a heap and lay there, sobbing. They were in a hallway leading to a series of rooms, the nearest of which was filled with other young people who stared out at them in surprise. Laughter and light conversation gave way to exclamations. Nest went past them down the hall in a rush. Behind her, the demon was tearing at the door, stripping away the wooden facade as if it were cardboard.

  Party-goers spilled out into the entry to help the young woman back to her feet, some calling after Nest, some staring wide-eyed toward the sounds coming from outside the door. “Don’t open it!” Nest shouted back at them. Not that anyone was that stupid, she thought in a sudden moment of giddiness.

  At the end of the hallway lay the kitchen. Inside, she found a phone and dialed 911. Maybe the old couple down the block had already done so, but maybe not. She told the operator there was a forcible entry in progress at a house just north of Lincoln Park. She said there was screaming. She gave the phone number of the house and then hung up. That ought to bring someone.

  There was a new sound of glass breaking, this time from somewhere at the side of the house. The demon was trying to get in another way. She leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to the sounds, staring into space. If she remained where she was, she was risking the safety of the people in the house. If she went out again, she was risking her own safety. She closed her eyes and tried to think. She was so tired. But she was alive, too, and that was more than she could say about Boot and Audrey and Ariel. She pushed away from the counter and went through a laundry room to a back door. The demon was still trying to break in from the other side of the house. She could hear the party-goers shouting and screaming, crowding down the hallway, trying to get away from the intruder. She could hear the phone begin to ring.

  She yanked open the door and fled once more into the night.

  She was running through a tall hedge into a neighbor’s backyard when she heard the boom of a gun. Maybe the shooter would get lucky. You couldn’t kill a demon with a gun, but you could destroy its current guise and force it to take time to re-form. If that happened, it would be done chasing after her.

  But she knew she couldn’t count on that. She couldn’t count on anything except that the demon would keep coming. She crossed through several more backyards, then caught sight of something that might save her. A transit bus was just pulling to a stop down the street. She broke from between the houses and raced for it, yelling at the top of her lungs, waving her arms wildly. She saw the bus driver turn and look at her. The look was a familiar one by now. She didn’t care. She raced around the front of the bus and through the open door.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” the driver demanded as she dug frantically into her pockets for some change.

  “Just close the door and start driving,” she ordered, glancing quickly over her shoulder.

  Whatever he saw on her face convinced him not to argue. He closed the doors and put the bus in gear. The bus swung away from the curb and into the street, rain beating against its wide front windows.

  She had just begun to make her way down the aisle when something heavy crashed into the doors, causing the metal to buckle and the glass to splinter. There were only three other passengers on the bus, and all three froze, eyes bright with shock and fear. The driver cursed and stepped on the gas. Nest wheeled back toward the damaged doors, hanging on the metal bar of a seat back for support, searching the darkness beyond.

  A huge, wolfish shadow was running next to the bus, eyes gleaming brightly in the night.

  Then a police car crested the hill in front of them, coming fast, lights flashing. It swept past without slowing, searchlight cutting through the rainy dark.

  The shadow disappeared.

  Nest exhaled slowly and slipped into the seat beside her, heart pounding in her chest. When she looked down at her hands, she saw that they were shaking.

  The ride back into the city was a blur. Once she determined that the bus was going in the right direction, she quit paying attention. People got on and off, but she didn’t look at their faces. She stared out the window into the darkness, thinking.

  It took a long time for the fear to subside, and when it did she was filled with cold rage. Three lives had been snuffed out quicker than a candle’s flame, and no one but she even knew about it and no one but she cared. Boot, Audrey, and Ariel—a sylvan, an owl, and a tatterdemalion. Creatures of the forest, of magic and imagination. Humans didn’t even know they existed. What difference did their loss make to anything? The unfairness of it burned inside her. She struggled for a time with the possibility that she was to blame for what had happened, that she had brought the demon down on them. But there was no reason to believe this was so, and her guilt stemmed mostly from the fact they were dead and she was alive. But barely alive, she kept reminding herself. Alive, because she had been fortunate enough to step off a cliff and survive the fall. Alive, because she had evaded a handful of serious attempts by a monster to rip her to shreds.

  She blinked in the sudden glare of a passing truck’s headlights. How had the demon found out about her meeting? There was a question that screamed for an answer. She stared harder at the darkness and tried to reason it through. The demon might have followed her. But to do so, it must have been following her all day. Was that possible? Could it have done so without Ariel or Two Bears knowing? Without her feeling something, a twinge of warning initiated by her dormant magic? Maybe. The magic wasn’t so dependable anymore. But if the demon hadn’t been following her, then it must have intercepted her message to John Ross. It must have been listening in when she called. Or learned something from Stefanie Winslow or from John himself.

  She gritted her teeth at the idea that she had been caught so unaware, so vulnerable, and that she had run—run!—rather than stand and fight. She hated what had happened, and she was not pleased with how she had behaved. It didn’t matter that she could explain it away by telling herself what she had done had kept her alive and that she had reacted on instinct. She had fled and not stood her ground, while three other lives had been taken, and no amount of rationalization could change how that mad
e her feel.

  As she rode through the darkness and the rain, struggling with the rush of emotions churning inside, she was reminded of how she had felt at Cass Minter’s funeral. She had stood there during the graveside services on a beautiful, sun-filled day trying to make herself believe that her best and oldest friend was gone. It hadn’t seemed possible. Not Cass, who was only eighteen and had lived so little of her life. Nest had stood there and tried to will her friend alive again, furious at having had her taken away so unexpectedly and abruptly and pointlessly. She had stood in a rage as the minister read from his Bible in a soft, comforting voice, trying in vain to make sense of the arbitrary nature of one young woman’s life and death.

  She felt like that now, thinking back on the events in Lincoln Park. She had been in Seattle for less than twenty-four hours. She had come with simple expectations and a single purpose to fulfill. But it had all gotten much more complicated than anything she might have imagined. It had become rife with madness.

  She watched the lights and the buildings of the downtown rise out of the darkness, sitting sodden, muddied, and exhausted in her seat. West Seattle fell away behind her, disappearing into the dark, and her rage faded with her fear, and both were replaced by an immense sadness. She began to cry. She cried softly, soundlessly, and no one around her appeared to notice. She wanted to go home again. She wanted none of this ever to have happened. A huge, empty well opened inside, echoing with the sounds of voices she would never hear again. Some came from Lincoln Park and the present. Some came from Hopewell and the past. She felt abandoned and alone. She could not find a center for the downward spiral in which she was caught.