Bearers of the Black Staff

“Trow told us most of them,” she said.

“Most, but not all. And the stories are always the same. The Gray Man is a wild man, a recluse living in the upper reaches of the valley, keeping apart from everyone. He wanders from this place to that, his clothes ragged and torn, his face haunted by memories that no one knows but him. He carries that black staff, a remnant of the old world, a talisman once, but an outdated symbol of something long since turned to dust. He scavenges to stay alive, and you don’t want him near your children because it is said he sometimes takes them and they are never seen again.”

“That isn’t what we saw,” she pressed.

He glanced over. “No, it isn’t. But we only saw him for a short time, so we don’t know all that much.”

“We know enough.”

When Prue made up her mind about something, that was the end of it. That seemed to be the case here. Besides, Panterra wasn’t inclined to disagree. What they had seen of Sider Ament was not in keeping with the stories. The Gray Man was wild enough, but he seemed sane and directed, and what he had to say about those beasts and the other creatures breaking through the mists could not be ignored.

“What do you suppose he does, living out there by himself?” Prue asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Pan shook his head. “I don’t know. Watches, mostly. He seemed to know about those creatures quick enough to come after them. He must watch the passes, too. Otherwise he wouldn’t know about the collapse of the barriers. Weren’t the Knights of the Word dedicated to doing something like that once?”

“They were servants of the Word, Aislinne says. They fought against the demons that tried to destroy everything. So I guess they must have kept watch over our ancestors just like Sider Ament is keeping watch over us.” She paused. “If Sider Ament is one of them, as the stories say, he would be doing the same thing, wouldn’t he? He’s certainly more than what they claim. You saw what he did with that black staff. He threw those beasts aside as if they were made of straw. I’ve never heard any stories about him being able to do that.”

In truth, Panterra thought, they had never heard any stories about the black staff that didn’t refer to it as a useless relic. The tales noted that he carried the staff, but used it only as a walking stick.

He found himself wishing he had the Gray Man back again so he could ask him about the power it contained. Was it a form of magic or science? It could have been either, but it was still from another era and something no one in the valley had ever seen before.

“Anyway, I don’t care what the stories say, he was keeping watch over us,” Prue finished, putting emphasis on her words. She gave Panterra a look.

“He did what I should have done,” Pan admitted. “I led us right into a trap that would have gotten us killed.”

“You did the best you could. How could you know what those creatures were like? How could you know they were from outside the valley?” She put a hand on his arm. “I should have sensed we were in danger, and I missed it.”

“You don’t have to take responsibility for my mistake,” Pan insisted. “I know what I did.”

She shrugged. “Let it go, Pan. We’re safe now, and we have other things to worry about.”

They talked for a while about how they were going to approach carrying out the charge given to them by Sider Ament. It would not be easy. Only a few were likely to accept that the world was changing in such a drastic way, and not many of them were in a position to do anything about it.

Trow Ravenlock might be one. He was a member of the Hawk sect and a subscriber to the belief that the Hawk would return to lead them out of the valley when it was time. But he was also a man who could be persuaded to a cause where there was evidence it was right to do so. He might hew to the party line, but he was independent enough in his thinking to listen to what Pan and Prue would tell him.

The other possibility was Aislinne. But getting her to help them would be tricky. She was impossible to predict; she might choose to do everything in her power to help or she might do nothing at all.

The hours slipped by, midday turning into afternoon and afternoon to dusk. By the time they had come down out of the high regions and onto the flats at the west end of the valley, the sun had dropped behind the rim of the mountains and the sky was coloring to gold and pink. On another day, the boy and the girl would have stopped to admire it. But the news they brought of the deaths of their friends and the charge they had been given did not allow for pauses.

So they crossed the grassy foothills to the thick woodlands beyond and made their way down familiar paths to their destination. The windows of the cottages and longhouses shone as firefly lights through the trees long before they arrived, and they could hear the sounds of voices and evening tasks being carried out as they approached, familiar and comforting.