Bearers of the Black Staff

PANTERRA WOKE AT SUNRISE. THE AIR WAS BITTER cold and he could see his breath cloud the air in front of his face. He rose quickly, walked to the front windows and looked out. The ground was thick with frost, a white coating of icy powder that sparkled in the faint first light. He moved to a different position, where he could see part of the upper stretches of Declan Reach. The snow line was down far enough that it was below the false horizon created by the cover of the trees.

He stared out at the mountains and the snow and the mist that hung like gauze across both and wondered that spring was so slow in coming.

Then he turned and hurried to the big stone hearth to make a fire, thinking back to another time. When he was a boy, his mother rose early to make the fire. It was always burning long before Pan woke, so that the house was warm and welcoming for him. His mother would be in the kitchen cooking, making him cakes or fry bread or some other sweet he favored. He’d smell sausage or a side of ham cooking, and there would be cold milk and hot ale set out on the table in large pitchers.

His mother would leave what she was doing and come to him at once, hugging him close, telling him good morning and letting him know how happy she was to have him.

He shook his head. It all seemed so long ago.

He knelt by the hearth, nursing sparks from the flint and tinder until the fire was going, and then added larger logs so that it would burn hot while he cooked. He brought out bread and meat and cheese and set them out. He boiled water for hot tea and set out two plates, cups, and cutlery. Everything was almost ready by the time Prue knocked on the door and peeked inside, as he knew she would.

“Is that for me?” she asked, indicating the second plate.

She knew it was, of course. It was their morning ritual when they were home after a long tracking. But she liked asking the question and he liked hearing her do so, so they continued to play the game long after it had grown familiar. Besides, he thought, there was no one else who would come to eat with him. Not uninvited, at least.

“Sit,” he invited, pulling over a thick cushion and tossing her a throw his mother had made.

She was still wearing the same clothes from last night, and she looked as if sleep might have been as difficult for her as it had been for him. She closed the door and hurried over, arms wrapped about her slender body.

“It’s freezing out there. Not like yesterday.” She sat, holding her hands out to the fire. “Do you think spring will ever get here? Or is nature just playing games with us?”

He shrugged. “Can’t be sure, but my guess is that winter’s pretty much done. You saw how the leaves were budding on the hardwoods lower down off the high country. Faster than usual and thicker. You saw the sky at sunset. The cold still deepens each morning, but I don’t expect it to be like that much longer.”

He poured hot water from the pot into a cup and held it out for her, then took one for himself. They sipped in silence, taking pleasure in the warming air of the cottage and in the comfort they found in the presence of each other. There was no reason to say much of anything right away. There would be time for talking later.

He served up the food and they ate it in silence, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. Panterra was fully awake now and alert, thinking about what lay ahead come nightfall. He would go before the council and speak of what had happened yesterday. He would ask Prue not to speak, just to support him by her silent presence so that perhaps she would not be tainted by the remarks he would make. But he knew she would refuse. Keeping silent was the coward’s way, and Prue was never a coward. She would stand up for him and herself and for what she knew was right. That was how she was, how she had always been.