Bearers of the Black Staff

She led the way through the village, long hair fanning out like a veil, stride quick and sure on the familiar paths. The boy and the girl followed obediently, pulling their cloaks close as the chill night air bit at them, cold enough that it burned their exposed faces. Overhead, the sky was clear and filled with stars that spread across the firmament in a wash of white specks, thickly clustered and brilliant. The moon was down this night, and the stars shone brightly in its absence.

When they reached Panterra’s lane, Aislinne paused while still within the cover of the trees to study the houses ahead. Saying nothing, she signaled to the boy and the girl to wait; then she stood silent and motionless for long minutes, watching.

“Come,” she said finally, and started ahead once more.

Moments later they were down the path and up the walkway to Panterra’s front door. The boy used his key and the three slipped inside to stand in the darkness.

“Lock it behind you,” Aislinne ordered, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper. “Don’t turn on any lights. Where can we talk without someone outside being able to see us?”

Pan led the way through the cottage, winding past the hearth with its now cold ashes from the morning’s fire, through the kitchen to the back stairway, and up the stairs to the loft where he made his bedroom. There, in a darkness broken only by the pale wash of starlight through windows beneath low-hanging eaves, they seated themselves on the floor in a tight circle.

“Is there a reason for all this caution?” Panterra asked. He was careful to keep his own voice low. He found Aislinne’s green eyes in the near-dark.

She gave him a look. “Don’t be stupid, Panterra. Of course there’s a reason!” She saw his bewilderment and shook her head. “You can’t possibly be that na?ve. Your revelations have stirred up poisonous waters. Do you really not see it?”

“You mean Skeal Eile?” Prue asked.

Aislinne sighed. “Child, child. I mean five centuries of traditions and beliefs that have become a bedrock of faith for far too many of our people. You cannot challenge something so deeply ingrained without arousing strong resentment. Look now. How much do you know of the history of the Children of the Hawk?”

Panterra and Prue exchanged a quick look. “Not much,” the boy admitted. “Only that they think the Hawk brought them here and that he will come for them again when it is time to leave the valley.”

“That merely scratches the surface. Yes, they believe that. But they also believe that they are the chosen people, the ones who were saved when the rest of the world perished in the Great Wars. They see themselves as the future of civilization. They think that theirs is the way—the only way. The Seraphics have told them so for five centuries, and for five centuries they have been thought right because no challenge to their teachings has succeeded. Or should I say, no challenge has survived its voicing.”

Prue shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the challengers have all recanted, fallen victim to unfortunate accidents or simply disappeared. Understand: the continued survival of the Children of the Hawk requires a surmounting of all attacks, real or perceived. This is about power and its usage—about the influence it generates and the coin it collects in the form of tithes and property. This is about who controls the populace and the land. On the surface of things, it would appear that my husband and the council do so, here in Glensk Wood. But underneath, where the truth of things lies hidden, it is another matter entirely. Skeal Eile and his minions hold all the power because the Seraphic speaks for the Hawk. In other times and places, it was other Seraphics. It has been so in the villages of Men since we came into this valley.”

“So they see us as a danger?” Panterra asked in disbelief. “Just for bringing Sider Ament’s message?”

“They see you as a perceived danger,” Aislinne corrected. “And that is enough for them to want to do something about you.”

“They will want us to recant?”

“At best—and I wouldn’t be too quick to assume the best.” She gave him a long look. “It is because of who sent the message that I say this, Panterra. Sider Ament is an unusual man with unusual abilities. Most think him a wanderer of strange habits and wild imaginings. They think he might even be demented. They know nothing of the truth of him, as I do. But what matters here is that his distancing of himself from the communities does not always serve him well. Not just in his lack of appreciation of the power of the Children of the Hawk. But also in his failure to realize what even the simple delivery of a message could result in for the messenger. He should not have asked of you what he did.”

She rocked back. “If I hadn’t discovered what was happening and returned to intervene, I think you might be spending this night under very different circumstances.”