Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [13]
“This isn’t going to be easy,” she told him.
He nodded. “I know.”
“We have to think it through.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then we better get to it.”
FOUR
NEITHER PANTERRA NOR PRUE SPOKE UNTIL THEY had retraced their steps through the deep woods and were back in the relatively clear stretch below the snow line, and then they both began talking at once.
“I should have asked him about that staff …”
“He’s nothing like the stories we’ve heard …”
They stopped speaking and looked at each other, and then Prue said, “He doesn’t seem at all like the person in the stories.” She wrinkled her freckled nose. “What does that suggest?”
“That the stories are either mistaken or lies.” Pan walked with his eyes sweeping the woods along the lower slopes and the craggy rock along the upper. He didn’t intend to get caught off guard again, even if he supposed that the danger was past. “Or maybe some of each.”
“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 He carries that black staff, a remnant of the old world, a talisman once, but an outdated symbol of something long since turned to dust.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.