Word & Void 02 - A Knight of the Word

by Terry Brooks

  “I could have lost you tonight,” he whispered.

  She nodded. “But you didn’t.”

  “I was scared I had.” He took a long, slow breath and let it out. “When you were inside, bringing out the last of those children, and I saw the flames climbing the walls, I thought for sure I had.”

  “No, John,” she whispered, kissing him gently, over and over, “you won’t lose me ever. I promise. No matter what, you won’t lose me.”

  The dream comes swiftly, a familiar acquaintance he wishes now he had never made. He stands once more on the hillside south of Seattle, watching as the city burns, as the hordes of the Void swarm through the collapsed defenses and begin their ritual of killing and destruction. He sees the battle taking place on the high bridge where a last, futile defense has been mounted. He sees the steel and glass towers swallowed in flames. He sees the bright waters of the bay and sound turn red in the reflected glare.

  He finds he is cold and indifferent to what he witnesses. He is detached in a way he cannot explain, but seems perfectly normal in his dream, as if he has been this way a long time. He is himself and at the same time he is someone else entirely. He pauses to examine this phenomenon and decides he has changed dramatically from when he was a Knight of the Word. He is a Knight no longer, but he remembers when he was. Oddly, his memories are tinged with a wistfulness he can’t quite escape.

  Before him, Seattle burns. By nightfall, it will have ceased to exist. Like his old life. Like the person he once was.

  There are people huddled about him, and they glance at him fearfully when they think he is not looking. They are right to fear him. He holds over them the power of life and death. They are his captives. They are his to do with as he chooses, and they are anxious to discover what he has planned for them. The exercise of such power is a curious feeling because it both attracts and repels him. He wonders in a vague sort of way how he got to this point in his life.

  From the long, dark span of the high bridge, bodies tumble into an abyss of smoke and fire like rag dolls. Their screams cannot be heard.

  The old man approaches, as he has approached each time in the dream, and points his bony finger at Ross and whispers in his hoarse, ruined voice, I know you.

  Get away from me, Ross orders in disgust and dismay, not wanting to hear the words he will speak.

  I know you, the old man repeats, undeterred, the bright light of his madness shining in his strange, milky eyes. You are the one who killed him. I was there.

  Ross stands his ground because he cannot afford to turn away. His captives are watching, listening, waiting for his response. They will measure his strength accordingly. The old man sways as if he were a reed caught in a stiff wind, stick-thin and ragged, his mind unbalanced, his laughter filled with echoes of his shattered life.

  Get away from me, Ross says once more.

  The Wizard of Oz! You killed him! I remember your face! I saw you! There, in the glass palace, in the shadow of the Tin Woodman, in the Emerald City, on All Hallows’ Eve! You killed the Wizard of Oz! You killed him! You!

  The words fade and die, and the old man begins to cry softly. Oh, God, it was the end of everything!

  Ross shakes his head. It is a familiar litany by now He has heard it before, and he turns away in curt dismissal. It is all in the past, and the past no longer matters to him.

  But the old man presses closer, insistent. I saw you. I watched you do it. I could not understand. He was your friend. There was no reason!

  There was a reason, he thinks to himself, though he cannot remember it now.

  But, the young woman! The old man is on his knees, his head hanging doglike between his slumped shoulders. What reason did you have for killing her?

  Ross starts, shaken now What young woman? Couldn’t you have spared her? She was just trying to help. She seemed to know you …

  Ross screams in fury and shoves the old man away. The old man tumbles backward into the mud, gasping in shock. Shut up! Ross screams at him, furious, dismayed, because now he remembers this, as well, another part of the past he had thought buried, a truth he had left behind in the debris of his conversion …

  Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  The old man tries to crawl away, but he has crossed a line he should not have, and Ross cannot forgive him his trespass. He strides to where the old man cringes, already anticipating the punishment he will deliver, and he lifts the heavy black staff and brings it down like a hammer …

  Ross jerked upright in the darkness of his bedroom, eyes snapping open, body rigid, awash in terror. His breath came in quick, ragged gulps, and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. Stef lay sleeping next to him, unaware of his torment. The bedside clock read five-thirty. He could hear a soft patter against the window glass. Outside, it was raining again.

  He held himself motionless beneath the sheet, staring at nothing, remembering. The dream had been real. The memories were his. He squeezed his eyes shut in dismay. He knew who the young woman was. He knew who it must be.

  And for the first time since the dream had come to him, he was afraid it might really happen.

  Chapter 19

  When the phone rang, Nest was buried beneath her blankets where it was pitch-black, and she was certain it was still the middle of the night. She let the phone ring a few times, her mind and body warm and lazy with sleep. Then memories of last night’s horror at Lincoln Park flooded through her, and she crawled from under the covers into shockingly bright daylight.

  Squinting uncertainly against the glare, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Nest, it’s me. Are you all right?”

  John Ross. She recognized his voice. But what an odd question. Unless he knew what had happened to her in the park, of course, but she didn’t know how he could. She hadn’t spoken to anyone afterward. She’d come back and fallen asleep almost immediately.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, her mouth and throat dry and cottony. What time was it? She glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost noon. She had forgotten to set the alarm and slept more than ten hours.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked quickly. “I’m sorry if I did, but we have to talk.”

  She nodded into the phone. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to sleep this late.” She could feel the pain begin even as she spoke the words. Her entire body was throbbing, an ache building steadily from a low whine to a sharp scream. “Where are you?”

  “Downstairs, in the lobby.” He paused. “I called earlier and there was no answer. I was afraid something had happened to you, so I decided to come over. Can you come down?”

  She took a deep breath, still working at waking up. “In about a half hour. Can you wait?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated a long time. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe you were right about some of the things we talked about. Maybe I was wrong.”

  She blinked in surprise. “I’ll be down as quick as I can.”

  She returned the receiver to its cradle and rolled onto her back. Whatever had happened to him must have been every bit as significant as what had happened to her. She didn’t know for sure that he was ready to concede the point, but it sounded as if he might be. She stared at the sunlight pooling on the floor in a golden rectangle in front of the tall window. Not only had she forgotten to set the alarm, she hadn’t even bothered to close the drapes. She looked out at the sliver of blue sky visible through the walls of the surrounding buildings. Last night’s storm had given way to better weather, it seemed.

  She rolled slowly out of the big bed, her joints and muscles groaning in protest. Every part of her body ached from last night’s encounter, and when she looked down at herself, she found bruises the size of Frisbees on her ribs and thighs, and scratches on her hands and arms that were caked with dried blood. She could hardly wait to see what her face looked like. She glanced at the blood-streaked sheets and pillow cases and grimaced. She was grateful she wouldn’t have to explain all this to the day maids when they came around to c
lean up.

  She went into the bathroom and showered. She was reminded by the heap of damp towels and washcloths that she had showered just last night, but she needed to perform the ritual again to prepare for her encounter with John Ross. Last night seemed far away, and the deaths of Ariel, Boot, and Audrey more distant in time than they actually were. At first, as she stood beneath the stream of hot water, they didn’t even seem real to her, as if she had dreamed them, as if they were imagined. But as the details recalled themselves, the images sharpened and solidified, and by the time she was pulling on her jeans and an NU sweatshirt, she was surprised to find she was crying.

  She picked up the dirty clothes, stuffed them into a laundry bag, and shoved the bag into her suitcase. Her windbreaker was in tatters, so she dropped it into the wastebasket. She would have to buy a new one before she went outside. She paused, wondering exactly where she was going out to. She had taken the room for two nights, and her plane ticket home was for four-thirty that afternoon. Was she really leaving? Was her part in all of this over? She remembered her promise to herself the night before that she would see things through to the end. She had made that promise for Ariel and Audrey and Boot, but for herself, as well.

  She looked around the room. Well, what she would do next depended on what John Ross had to say.

  The long, dark, feral shape of the demon chasing her through the park flashed unexpectedly in the back of her mind. She hugged herself and set her jaw determinedly. She was done with running out of fear and a lack of preparation. She would be ready if the demon came at her again. She would find a way to deal with it.

  But it was John Ross who needed strengthening. It was Ross the demon was really after, not her. She was just a distraction, an annoyance, a threat to its plans for him. Once Ross was subverted, it wouldn’t matter what she did.

  She went out the door and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Ross was sitting in a chair across from her when she stepped out, and he came to his feet immediately, leaning heavily on the walking stick.

  “Good morning,” he said as she came up to him. She saw the shock in his expression as he got a closer look at her face.

  “Good morning,” she replied. She gave him a wry smile. “The rest of me looks just as bad, in case you’re wondering.”

  He looked distraught. “I was. Did this happen at Lincoln Park? I got your message from Stef.”

  “I’ll tell you everything over breakfast. Or lunch, if you prefer. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since yesterday about this same time. Come on.”

  She led him into the dining room and asked for a table near the back wall, some distance apart from those that were occupied. They sat down facing each other and accepted menus from the waitress. Nest studied hers momentarily and put it aside.

  “You said something’s happened,” she prodded, studying his face.

  He nodded. “Fresh Start burned down last night. Ray Hapgood was killed. They made a positive identification this morning.” His voice sounded stiff and uncomfortable. “Ray was working the night shift for me, it turns out. I didn’t know this. I didn’t even know I was scheduled to work it this week. I don’t know why I didn’t know, but that’s the least of what’s bothering me.” He shook his head. “Ray was a good friend. I’m having a lot of trouble with that.”

  “When did this happen?” she asked right away. “What time, I mean?”

  “Sometime after midnight. I was asleep. Stef woke me, got me up to take a look out the window, to make sure of what she was seeing. We called 911, then rushed over to wake the people in the building. Stef went all the way to the top floor. She got everyone out but Ray.”

  Nest barely listened to him as he filled in the details, her mind occupied with working out the logistics of the demon’s movements between Lincoln Park and Pioneer Square. It couldn’t have been both places at once if the events happened concurrently, but there was an obvious gap in time between when it was chasing her and when it would have set the fire. It would have had to rush right back after she had escaped, but it could have done so.

  But why would it bother setting fire to Fresh Start? What reason could it possibly have for doing that?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said suddenly.

  “I’ve been thinking it, too. But the fire marshall’s office says the fire started because of frayed or faulty wiring in the furnace system. It wasn’t arson.”

  “You mean, they don’t have any evidence it was arson,” she said.

  He studied her carefully. “All right. I don’t believe it was an accident either. But why would a demon set fire to Fresh Start?”

  Same question she was asking herself. She shook her head. The waitress returned to take their order and left again. Nest tried to think the matter through, to discover what it was she had missed, because her instincts told her she had missed something.

  “You said on the phone you’d been thinking about what I told you,” she said finally. “You said that maybe you were wrong. What made you change your mind? It wasn’t just the fire, was it? It must have been something else.” She paused. “You said you came over because you thought maybe something had happened to me. Why did you think that?”

  He looked decidedly uncomfortable, but there was a hard determination reflected in his eyes. “Do you remember the dream I told you about?”

  “I remember you didn’t exactly tell me about it at all.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t think it was necessary then. I do now.”

  She studied him silently, considering what this meant. It couldn’t be good. “All right,” she said. “Tell me.”

  Her face was so battered and scraped that it was all he could do to keep his voice steady. He could not help feeling responsible, as if by having had last night’s dream he had set in motion the events prophesied for today. He wanted to know what had happened to her, but he knew she would not tell him until she was satisfied he was reconsidering his position on the Lady’s warning. He felt a sense of desperation grip him as he began his narrative, a growing fear that he could not accomplish what he had come here to do.

  “I’ve been having this dream for several months,” he began. “It’s always the same dream, and it’s the only dream I ever have. That’s never happened to me before. For a long time after I stopped being a Knight of the Word, there were no dreams—not of the sort I used to have, just snippets of the sort everyone has. So when I began having this dream, I was surprised. It was the same dream, but it changed a little every time, showing me a little bit more of what was to happen.

  “The dream goes like this. I’m standing on a hill south of Seattle watching the city burn. Like all the old dreams I had as a Knight of the Word, it takes place in the future. The Void has besieged the city and taken it. There is a battle going on. I am not a Knight of the Word in this dream, and I am not involved in the fighting. But I am standing there with captives all around me, and in the dreams of late, I am their captor. I don’t understand why this is, but I am.

  “Then an old man approaches, and he accuses me of killing someone long ago. He says he was there, that he saw me do it. He says I killed Simon Lawrence, the Wizard of Oz, in Seattle, on Halloween. He says I killed him at the art museum. He doesn’t say it exactly that way. He says it happened in the Emerald City, in the glass palace, in the shadow of the Tin Woodman. But I know what he means. The art museum is mostly glass and outside there is a piece of sculpture called Hammering Man, a metal giant pounding his hammer on a plate. There’s no mistaking what he means. Besides, in the dream I can remember it happening, too. I can’t remember the details—maybe because I don’t know them. But I know he is telling the truth.”

  He stopped talking as the waitress arrived with their food. When she departed, he bent forward to continue.

  “I didn’t learn this all at once. It was revealed in pieces. But I put the pieces together. I knew what the dream was telling me. But I didn’t believe it. There is no reason for me to kill Simon Lawrence. I respect
and admire him. I want to work for him as long as he’ll let me. Why would I ever even consider killing him? When you asked me yesterday about the dream, I didn’t see any point in going into it. Whether or not I was a Knight of the Word, I wouldn’t let the events of the dream ever happen. To tell you the truth, I was afraid that the dream was a tactic by the Word to bring me back into line, to scare me into changing my mind about serving. I even considered the possibility that it was the work of the Void. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to allow it to affect me.”

  She was wolfing down her club sandwich as he talked, but her eyes were fixed on him. He glanced down at his own food, which he had not touched. He took a sip of his iced tea.

  “Last night, after the fire, I had the dream again.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why. I never do. The dreams just come. It was the same dream, with the same troubling aspects. But this time there was a new wrinkle The old man reminded me of something else. He said that I had killed another person at the same time as I killed Simon Lawrence. He said it was a young woman, someone I knew.”

  She stopped eating and stared at him. “I know,” he said quietly. “I felt the same way. The shock woke me. I was awake after that until it was light, thinking. I don’t believe it could ever happen. I don’t think I would let it.” His voice thickened. “But in the dream, it had, so I can’t discount the possibility that I might be wrong. I also remember what I was sent to do in Hopewell five years ago. If I was prepared for it to happen once …”

  He trailed off, his hands knotting before him, his eyes shifting away. “I’ve gambled as much as I dare to with this business. I don’t know if there’s a demon out there or not. I don’t know if the Void is setting a trap for me. I don’t know what’s going on. But whatever it is, I don’t want you involved. At least not any further than you already are. I want you to get on a plane right now and get out of here. Get far away, so far away you can’t possibly be a part of whatever happens next.”