Bearers of the Black Staff

“You don’t know yourself very well, do you? Not as well as I do, anyway. Trust me. You would go.”


She turned away, as if dismissing him. He followed her in silence, seething. She was wrong, of course. He hadn’t had any intention of going with Phryne, no matter what she thought. At least, he didn’t think so. He would have told her no, and they would have turned back into the pass and started home. Even if she had insisted on going alone, he would have stopped her. Or Tasha would have. Even though he was interested in the source of the smoke and the possibility of contact with people living outside the valley, he wouldn’t have gone. Prue was just wrong.

Yet now here he was, going with her instead of with Phryne. And he hadn’t tried to stop her, either. What did that say about him?

He shrugged the matter off. It was too late to do anything about it now. Neither one of them would turn back at this point. They would have to sort it out later.

They stayed close to the rock walls of the cliffs as they made their cautious way toward the smoke, using clumps of scrub, piles of deadwood, and clusters of rock as cover, staying down in the gullies and ravines when they could. It was slow work made more difficult by the need to mask all sounds and keep their exposure to a minimum. They watched closely for unexpected dangers, aware that in this country there would be things they hadn’t seen before, traps and pitfalls and predators they might miss if they weren’t careful. They didn’t talk anymore, but concentrated on the task at hand.

It took them less than an hour to reach a point where they were near enough to their destination to get a good look at the source of the smoke. Hidden in a shallow ravine grown thick with scrub, they were able to peer over the ravine’s lip to where the smoke curled lazily out of a campfire smoldering in a ring of stones not fifty feet away. Packs of some sort were stacked to one side, and blankets lay neatly folded next to them. The camp’s occupants were nowhere to be seen. Panterra cast an anxious glance in all directions, not liking that no one was visible and they couldn’t be sure if anyone was close.

He looked over at Prue, and she shrugged. It was impossible for them to determine much of anything from the little they could see. He felt a keen sense of disappointment. This whole effort had been a waste of time. There was nothing they had learned by coming here that they didn’t already know.

Except for one thing, he thought suddenly. They had determined that someone like them was alive out here, someone who carried packs and used blankets, which meant the world was still inhabited by beings like themselves and not just the beasts and dragons they had encountered.

They remained where they were, undecided about whether to stay or go, studying the camp, still hoping they would learn something more. Time passed, and the darkness deepened. Nothing showed itself, nothing moved, and no sounds broke the stillness save once when a creature cried out sharply far off in the dark. The outside world felt huge and empty.

Finally, Pan reached over and touched her arm.

We need to get out of here, he mouthed.

She nodded, and they began backing down the slope of the ravine, intending to retrace their steps. But they had gotten only a few feet when Prue suddenly grabbed him and shook her head sharply, warning him to freeze. Something was wrong. She mouthed a silent explanation, but he couldn’t make out what it was. She was looking everywhere, sensing danger but unable to pinpoint its source. Panterra searched the shadows with her, but the shadows fell in layers that filled the ravine. He couldn’t see anything. He glanced back at her, wanting her to tell him if they could go, if they should flee, but Prue was still searching the darkness.

He dropped slowly into a crouch, steeling himself, trying to decide what to do.

Then a huge shadow fell over him, crashing down on him like a great weight and collapsing his world, and it was too late.





FIFTEEN




HE IS SIXTEEN, LITTLE MORE THAN A YEAR OLDER than when he fell in love, when the bearer of the black staff comes to him. The appearance of the old man is entirely unexpected. Sider Ament knows who the bearer is and has even seen him now and then, but he has never spoken to him, has never even come close. Nor has the old man ever approached him as he does now, coming out of the trees.

Sider’s first thought will haunt him for the rest of his life.

What does he want with me?