A Knight Of The Word

Carole nodded, a hint of confusion in her blue eyes, and Nest moved away before she could ask any questions.

A passing server handed her one of the black nylon masks, and she slipped it on. All around her, people were drinking champagne. Their talk and laughter was deafening in the cavernous space. Eyes scanning the crowd, she moved toward the wide staircase with the massive stone figures warding its various levels arid began to climb. As she dial so, a troubling realisation came to her. She had forgotten about the dream, the one that had haunted Ross for months, the one in which the old man accused him of killing the Wizard of Oz-and perhaps of killing her as well. She had been thinking so hard about Ross and the demon and what she suspected abort both that it had slipped her mind. It was supposed to happen here, in the Seattle Art Museum, on this night. He had wanted her far away from this place, so it could never happen. He had wanted himself far away as well. But she suspected events and demon schemes were at work conspiring to thwart his wishes. Simon Lawrence was already here. She was here. If he wasn’t already, soon John Ross would be here too.

She reached the mezzanine and glanced around anew. She did not see Ross. She felt a groaning desperation at her inability to locate him. The longer he remained ignorant of what she suspected, the greater the risk his dream would come to pass. But all she could do was to keep looking. She walked over to a security guard and asked if he had seen John Ross. He told her he didn’t even know who Ross was. Frustrated with his response, she asked if he’d seen Simon Lawrence, The guard said no, but asked her to wait and walked over to speak with a second guard. After a moment he came back and told her the second guard had sent a man upstairs not long ago to talk with Mr. Lawrence-a man who walked with a limp and carried a walking stick.

Stunned by her blind good luck, she thanked him and moved quickly to the stairway. She had never even thought to ask if a man with a walking staff and a limp had came in. Stupid, stupid! She tore off the nylon mask and went up the stairs in a rush, wondering what Simon and Ross were doing up there, wondering if somehow she was already too late. There was still too much she didn’t know, too much about the circumstances surrounding the events portended in Ross’s dream that was hidden from her. There was a tangle of threads in this matter that needed careful unravelling before it ensnared them all.

She reached the second-floor landing and wheeled left to where a dozen steps rose to a dimly lit corridor and the exhibition rooms beyond. She was halfway up this second set of stairs when she drew up shot.

John Ross walked out of the shadows, a luminous, terrifying apparition. His clothes were torn and bloodied, and his tattered coat billowed out from his half-naked body like a cape. The black, rune-scrolled staff that was the source of his magic shimmered with silver light, and the radiance it emitted ran all about hint like electricity. His strong, sharply angled face was hard-set and drawn, and his green eyes were fierce with determination and rage.

When he saw her, he faltered slightly, and with recognition came a hint of fear and shack. “Nest!” he hissed

Her breath caught in her throat. “John, what happened?” When he shook his head, unwilling to answer, she wasted no further time on the matter. “John, I had to come back,” she said quickly. “I took a chance I might find you here. I have to talk with you.”

He shook his head in horror, seeing. something that was hidden from her, some truth too terrible to accept. “Get out of here, Nest! I told you to get away! I warned you about the dream!

“But that’s why I’m here.” She tried to get closer, but he held up one hand as if to ward himself against her. “John, you have to forget about the dream. The dream was a lie.”

“It was the truth!” he shouted bark at her. “The dream was the truth! The dream is meant to happen! But some of it can still be changed, enough so that you wont be hurt! But you have to get out of here! You have to leave now!”

She brushed back her curly hair, trying to understand what he was saying. “No, the dream doesn’t have to happen. Don’t you remember? You’re supposed to prevent the dream!”

He came forward a step, wild-eyed and shining with silver light, the magic a living thing as it raced cap and down his body and across his limbs. “You don’t understand!” he hissed at her in fury. “I’m supposed to make it happen!”

There were footsteps and voices on the Grand Stairway, and Nest turned in surprise. She heard Simon Lawrence speaking, and she rushed to where she could see him climbing out of the brightly lit mezzanine toward the second-Floor shadows.

She wheeled back to find John Ross striding toward her. “Get out of the way, Nest.”