Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [162]
“I knew of her, but I didn’t know her personally. I didn’t go to school with her. We weren’t classmates. I’m sorry, I made that up. I needed to meet you. More to the point, I needed to meet Nest.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Why, John?”
“Because while I didn’t know Nest’s mother, I do know her father.”
Now Nest was staring hard at him, too, a look of horror spreading over her face. She swallowed against the sudden ache in her throat and looked quickly at her grandfather. Old Bob’s face was pale. “Maybe you better just spit it out,” he said.
John Ross nodded, bringing the black staff around in front of him so that he could lean on it, as if the talk was wearing on him in unseen ways. He looked down at his shoes momentarily, then directly at Nest.
“I’m sorry, Nest, this is going to hurt a lot. I wish I didn’t have to tell you, but I do. I hope you’ll understand.” He looked back at her grandfather. “There’s a lot of talk about how your wife died, sir. Some people are saying she was a crazy old woman who died shooting at ghosts. I don’t think that’s true. I think she was shooting at the man I’ve been tracking, the man I came here to find. She was trying to defend herself. But he is a very resourceful and dangerous adversary, and she wasn’t strong enough to stop him. He’s caused a lot of trouble and pain, and he’s not finished. He came to Hopewell for a very specific purpose. He doesn’t realize it yet, but I know what that purpose is.”
Nest took a deep breath as his green eyes shifted back to hers. “He’s come for you. Your grandmother knew. That made her a threat to him, so he got rid of her.”
His gaze was steady. “He’s your father, Nest.”
In his dream, the Knight of the Word stands with a ragged band of survivors atop a wooded rise south of the burning city. Men have devoted such enormous time and energy to destroying themselves that they are exhausted from their efforts, and now the demons and the once-men have picked up the slack. At first it was the tented camps and nomads who were prey, but of late the attacks have shifted to the walled cities. The weakest have begun to fall and the nature of the adversary to make itself known. The Knight has battled the demons all through the destruction of the old world, confronting them at every opportunity, trying to slow the erosion of civilization. But the tide is inexorable and undiminished, and a new dark age has descended.
The Knight looks around to be certain that the women and children are being led to safety while he acts as sentry. Most have already disappeared into the night, and the rest are fading with the swiftness of ghosts. Only a few remain behind to stand with him, a handful of those who have discovered too late that he is not the enemy. Below, the city bums with an angry crackle. Hordes of captives are being led away, those who did not flee when there was time, who did not heed his warning. The Knight closes his eyes against the sadness and despair that wells within him. It does not change. He cannot make them listen. He cannot make them believe.
Look! says a weathered man next to him, his voice a low hiss of fear and rage. It’s her!
He sees the woman then, striding forward out of the darkness and into the light, surrounded by men who are careful not to come too near. She is tall and regal, and her features are cold. He has never seen her before, but there is something familiar about her nevertheless. He is immediately intrigued. She radiates power and is an immutable presence. She is clearly the leader of those about her, and they hasten to do her bidding. A captive is brought before her and forced to kneel. He will not look at her, his head lowered stubbornly between his shoulders. She reaches for his hair and jerks savagely on it. When their eyes meet, he undergoes a terrible transformation. He twists and shakes, an animal trapped within a snare, enraged and terrified. He says things, screams them actually, the words indistinct, but the sounds clear. Then she is finished with him and