by Tanya Huff
She smiled at him then and the whole wretched week was suddenly worth every bit of pain and terror.
She moved away and Evan took her place, gently adding his blessing to hers.
Roland took a long look—it would have to last him—and said, “I’m sorry we didn’t …”
The silence grew as the Adept took a long look in return. Then he winked. “Maybe next time.”
Next time! screamed the little voice in Roland’s head. Next time!
Shut up, Roland told it.
Arms about each other, Evan and Rebecca stepped into the Gate and for a moment Roland thought he saw a warrior in blue and silver with a jeweled sword at his hip, a being of glory whose great white wings brushed the top of the Gate, and the Evan he had come to know, all three together in one. Then the glowing images formed over Rebecca, too, although instead of a sword she cradled a bound sheaf of wheat.
Then, just for a second, the shimmer cleared and he could see past them into the Light. He took a step and then another and then the Gate faded and Mrs. Ruth stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Bards can See, but they can’t ever go through,” she explained though not unkindly. “It’s one of the things that makes them Bards.”
“But …”
“Forget it, bubba.”
He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw just a fat old bag lady bulging out of an old black dress. Daru wore white shorts and a shirt, the only sign of the Maiden-warrior the cast mark on her forehead.
“It’s really over,” he sighed.
Mrs. Ruth snorted. “Don’t you ever listen, bubba? Nothing ends, The Circle always comes around.” She reached up and slapped him lightly on the cheek with one pudgy hand. “Go home. Get some sleep. Learn to play that fancy harp you’ve acquired. Stay out of trouble. Don’t be a stranger. And you,” she waved the hand at Daru, “eat more. You’re too skinny.”
Then she turned and waddled away.
Roland knelt to put Patience in the case and looked up to see Daru staring down at him.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
Roland shrugged and stood. “What she told me to do, I guess.”
Daru nodded. “That’s always wisest.”
“So are you …”
“I’m just myself. By tomorrow I won’t remember that I was ever anything else.”
“But her?” Roland jerked his head in the direction Mrs. Ruth had taken.
“The Crone Remembers. It’s part of her job.” Daru sighed and stretched. “I don’t know about you. but I could use some coffee.”
Roland thought about it for a minute. “Yeah,” he said, “me, too.”
They walked across the common toward the lights of College Street and the normal sorts of strangeness found in twenty-four hour doughnut shops.
“So this, uh, Maiden thing, you don’t …”
“No.”
“Oh.”
On the other side of the common. Police Constables Patton and Brooks shook themselves free of the stupor they’d been wrapped in and got back into their car. The person—or thing, they were no longer sure—responsible for at least two deaths would never be brought to trial, but Justice of a sort had been done and they were satisfied.
“We, uh, going to report this?” PC Brooks asked, tapping his fingers against the dash. His partner raised a sarcastic eyebrow and he flushed.
PC Patton thumbed the microphone switch.
“Go ahead, 5234.”
“We’re just leaving the Circle.”
“And the fireworks?”
“The situation took care of itself. 5234, out.”
She put the car into gear, and they drove away into the darkness that was nothing more than the darkness of a summer’s night.
Overhead, a creature that was not quite a squirrel ran along the hydro wires on its way to spread the news.