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By Root 522 0

the Tracker leader then about their encounter with Sider Ament and how the Gray Man had done battle with the creatures, killing one and driving off the other. They told him, as well, of the Gray Man’s warning that the wall of the protective mists that had kept them safe for five centuries was breaking down. Prue added her own opinion: that Sider Ament was right and the things that had killed their friends had not come from within the valley but from somewhere without, from the world their ancestors had abandoned, because nothing so terrible had ever been seen in their own world.

Trow Ravenlock listened silently, and when Panterra and Prue were done, he looked at them a moment before shaking his head. “It isn’t possible. What you’re telling me about the mists? It isn’t possible. The legend says—”

“It doesn’t matter what the legend says!” Prue interrupted heatedly. “What matters is what we saw! Those things, Trow, were clear proof of what the Gray Man says is happening.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Trow held up his hand as they both started to argue anew. “It doesn’t matter what you or I think, in any case. What matters is what the members of the council think, and they’re going to listen to the Seraphic. His voice is the law on matters concerning the Hawk and the future of this community’s people beyond the valley. We can argue this until the cows come home and beyond, but it doesn’t change things.” He paused, looking from one face to the other. “Does it.”

He made it a statement of fact. He sounded so calm about it Panterra was immediately angry.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed. “But we are obligated to make our report to you, and you are obligated to carry it before the council.”

Trow shook his head. “I am obligated to do what I feel is best. In this case, giving a report to the council is not a wise idea. What I will do is to send other Trackers back up into Declan Reach to see if we can make sense of things. I will even order them to test the strength of the mists, so far as we are able to do so.”

“‘To see if we can make sense of things’?” the boy repeated.

“Don’t make it sound like that. It’s just a precaution to make sure you didn’t miss something, that what you think you saw is what you actually did see.”

Panterra started to respond and then hesitated, glancing back at the open longhouse door. Had he heard something? He walked across the room to the door and looked outside. The porch was empty, and there was no sign of anyone beyond. He searched the darkness for a moment, and then closed the door and walked back to Trow.

“If you won’t give my report to the council, will you give it to Pogue Kray, at least?”

“The council chair will have the same reaction as mine, Panterra, only more so. He hews to the teachings of the sect much more closely than I do. It will accomplish nothing to tell him something he will not accept. You have to face the truth about this. No one is going to believe something so radical. They’ll think you’re seeing things and are unfit for your position.”

Panterra and Prue exchanged a glance. “I request that I be allowed to make the report for you,” Pan said. “I have the right to speak before the council on matters that concern the safety of the community. I am exercising that right now.”

There was a tight silence as the two faced each other. “You have to let him,” Prue agreed.

“I know what I have to do, young lady,” Trow Ravenlock replied, looking over at her sharply. “I don’t need you to remind me.” He paused, turning his gaze back on Pan. “Why don’t you sleep on this and we’ll talk in the morning?”

Panterra shook his head. “A night’s sleep won’t change the truth of what we saw. We’re wasting time. I want to give my report to the full council. Let them hear me out and decide for themselves.”

“And hear me out, as well,” Prue added bravely.

Trow looked from one to the other. “Don’t put yourself in a position where you’ll end up looking like fools. Worse, don’t jeopardize your careers as Trackers. You might be throwing everything away by insisting on this. You’re talented, but you’re young still;