Bearers of the Black Staff

They set out at once, skirting the killing ground as quickly as possible, trying not to think about their friends and what it must have been like for them. They trudged up the slope in the wake of the blood spots, no longer bothering to hide their footprints, which would have been difficult in any case given the crusty covering of snow. The things they were tracking were making no effort to hide their passing, either, their huge splayed footprints clearly outlined where their feet had sunk deep into the white. Panterra gave them a quick glance, processing the information they offered. Great fleshy pads provided balance, claws the size of a Koden’s allowed for ready purchase against the rock and frozen ground, two legs rather than four meant that they walked upright, and long strides suggested each one was well over six or even seven feet tall. Prue was right: he did not want these things to find out they were being tracked.

He glanced over at his youthful companion. He had grown up with Prue Liss; they had lived next door to each other and spent their childhoods together. The source and extent of their gifts was an open secret within their families, but otherwise kept private. Trow Ravenlock let them pair up because they had come to the Tracker cadre together and asked to be trained as a team. He might have preferred assigning each to someone older but quickly saw that they functioned best as a unit. More often than not, each knew what the other was thinking without either having spoken; each could finish the other’s sentences as if they shared the same voice.

They had been together for so long, it seemed impossible that it would ever be otherwise.

“They’re going back up into the mountains,” Prue observed. She brushed back a lock of her flaming-red hair, tucking it under her cap. “Do you think they might be Kodens?”

The great bears lived at the higher elevations, solitary and reclusive, appearing now and then to hunters and trappers but hardly ever coming close to the communities. Certainly Kodens were big and strong enough to kill a pair of unsuspecting Trackers, as Panterra had surmised earlier.

But it still didn’t feel right. “Kodens don’t hunt in pairs,” he pointed out. “Nor would they savage a body that way. They only kill to eat or protect their young. There were no signs of young Kodens and no reason for the savaging. Unless they were maddened by some disease or chance brought them together at the campsite, it doesn’t make sense.”

Prue didn’t say anything for a minute, her breath clouding the air, her footfalls silent in the soft snow. “But what else could do something like this?”

He gave her a shake of his head. He didn’t know. He glanced over and saw the mask of determination etched on her face. They were so different, Prue and he. For all that they shared talents that bound them closer than if they were siblings, they were still polar opposites in almost every way. He was tall and broad-shouldered and much stronger than he looked. She was slight, almost frail—although she could also be very tough when it was called for. She was emotional about everything, and he was emotional about almost nothing, a cerebral thinker, a planner and calculator. He was cautious while she was quick to act. He was forward thinking while she preferred to live in the moment.

He could list other differences, other contrasts, but in truth they were still more alike than not. They shared a love of life lived outside walls, a life of exploration and discovery. They were skilled survivalists, able to convert almost anything at hand into tools and shelter. They were athletic and good with weapons. They were of a like mind about the ways in which the world was changing, too, here within the valley, where the once united peoples who had been saved were splintering into groups that no longer had much to do with one another and who, in some instances, were openly hostile to those who were not like them.

They were in agreement about the one they called Hawk, who had brought their people here five centuries ago, and about those who now called themselves his children.

Ahead, the blood trail, which had diminished steadily the farther they got from the killing ground, bloomed anew amid a line of thinning trees. Pan slowed their pace, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, searching the shadows for signs of their quarry. But nothing moved on the landscape or amid the trees and rocks.

The silence was deafening.

“Do you sense anything?” he asked Prue.

“Nothing that I didn’t sense before.” She glanced over, her fine-boned features tense beneath her cap. “Is that stain ahead what I think it is?”

He chose not to answer. “Wait here,” he told her.

He edged ahead toward the smear, already as certain as she must have been that it was blood. But as he neared, he saw that there were bones, too. There were bits of flesh and clothing.

There was part of a head.

Prue, who had come up beside him, silent as a shadow, threw up on the spot, unable to help herself, choking and gasping as she knelt in the snow. Panterra gripped her shoulders, bending close. “Take deep breaths,” he whispered.

She did as she was told, and the sickness appeared to dissipate and her head to clear. “Don’t look,” he told her.

“Too late,” she replied.

He helped her to her feet. “They ate them here, didn’t they?” she murmured.

He nodded, forcing himself to look anew at the mess, studying the ground carefully, reading the signs. “They ate them, and then they slept. Over there.” He pointed.

They walked over to a pair of depressions in the snow that gave a clear indication of the size and bulk of their quarry. Panterra knelt once more, touching the packed snow, trailing his fingers across its surface.