Bearers of the Black Staff

Pan shrugged, glancing at Prue. “I don’t know you. But we both know of you. We’ve heard the stories; Trow Ravenlock, who leads the Trackers of Glensk Wood, has told them to us. He described you. Especially that black staff. He says it was a talisman once. He says you are descended from the old Knights of the Word who served the Hawk.”


Sider Ament shook his head. “He says a lot of things about me, doesn’t he? For someone I’ve never met. I don’t know the truth of most of what you say. I’ve heard the stories, too. But no one asked me to whom I was related or any of that. I’m a hunter born, a wanderer by nature, and I was given this staff by the one who carried it before me on the day he died. Now you know more of the truth than Trow what’s-his-name and you can tell the stories better.”

He looked off into the distance in the direction of the fleeing creature. “I’m going to have to go after it. I can’t let it get out of the valley and let others know we’re here. But I guess there’s time enough for that when we’re done speaking. This is important, too.”

“Out of the valley?” Prue repeated, disbelief in her voice.

For the first time, the stranger smiled. “You are quick, little one. How is it you’re a Tracker, though? You seem very young and small for such work.” He glanced back at Panterra. “Even your protector seems a bit young, although at least he seems strong enough. And you both have some skills, that’s clear. Tell me about them. About yourselves.”

Ordinarily, neither would have told anyone anything unless they knew the person well enough to call him a friend. But the Gray Man’s reputation was such that it never even occurred to them not to reply. So Prue revealed the truth about their talents and how these had set them apart from the other members of the community since they were children. Pan listened without saying anything, vaguely uncertain about whether Prue was wise in revealing all this, but unwilling to intervene.

When she was done, Sider Ament nodded slowly. “There were others like you once,” he said. “Others who came into this valley back in the beginning.” He looked as if he might say more, then made a dismissive gesture. “But that’s the past, and the past can’t help us. It’s the present that matters, and you two seem capable enough of doing what’s needed in my absence. Will you agree to help me?”

“If we can,” Pan agreed carefully.

“Then go back to Glensk Wood and tell its council what’s happened. Describe everything. Leave nothing out. Make them understand that what you are telling them is no exaggeration. Tell them that these things are just the first of others that are coming. Tell them that—”

He stopped suddenly. “Well, tell them what I am about to tell you. You have to know first, and you have to believe what I’m going to tell you for this to work. Here, sit a moment.”

He took them over to a fallen log where they seated themselves. Sider Ament’s gray eyes held them pinned as he spoke.

“The world you know is ending, young ones. It isn’t happening in the way that the Children of the Hawk have foretold and that many others would like. There’s no return of the one who sealed us in here, no resurrection of the dead, and no turning back to what’s long past. The mists that have sealed the valley away and kept us safe are dissipating. Soon they will be gone entirely. The world outside, the one we left behind all those centuries ago, is going to come in to have a look around. Those creatures we just fought were only the first that will find their way here.”

He paused. “Actually, they aren’t even the first. There have been others before them. But they were less dangerous and did little real damage. They took a few wild creatures, a stray farm animal or two—that was it. Even then, I thought the mists would re-form and strengthen. But they didn’t and they won’t. I know that now. They will only continue to weaken.”

Panterra and Prue exchanged a quick glance. “We don’t believe as do the Seraphic sect,” Pan said. “We’re Trackers, and we believe in a world outside this valley. But we didn’t know about the mists. We didn’t know anything had changed.”

“No one does. Yet.” Sider Ament rocked back slightly, cradling the black staff in his arms. “But they need to. They need to prepare themselves. Not only for the emotional shock, but for the fighting, as well. There will be dangerous things out there in the wastelands of the old world. What was left behind was caught in a world of poisons and savagery, and only the worst and the strongest will have survived. It won’t be easy keeping them out.”

He paused. “Let’s be honest. We won’t be able to keep them out. Some will get through. Our chances for survival will depend on how few manage to do that.”

Neither Panterra nor Prue said anything for a moment. Then Prue shifted uncomfortably on the log. “They won’t believe us,” she said. “The members of the council, the members of the sect, the Seraphic, none of them.”