Warrior (The Word and the Void) Read online

  But when his marriage and his new life in Seattle were nearly ten years along, they suddenly did.

  Chapter 7

  Jack had gone to SeaTac Airport to pick up a client who was flying all the way from Texas to receive a management plan for the park district he worked for in Dallas-Ft. Worth. It was a Saturday night in early April, and the airport was crowded with people flying in to their Seattle homes and flying out to other cities – a steady mix of arrivals and departures common to every weekend. Because of security regulations, Jack had to wait for his client in baggage claim. He was early, so he bought a Seattle Times and took a seat near one of the reader boards to wait for information on his client’s flight to appear.

  He had waited for perhaps fifteen minutes, glancing up every now and then, when a swarm of passengers from a Los Angeles flight poured off the escalators, making a beeline for their baggage carousel. He watched them as they descended, idly noting faces and their carryon baggage, until finally he lost interest and went back to his newspaper.

  It was not more than a minute or two when he became aware of a shadow falling over him, partially blocking the light he was using to read by.

  “Is anybody sitting here?” a deep voice asked.

  He glanced up at the thickset, rough-featured man in front of him, then at the empty seat beside him and gestured. “It’s yours.”

  The man sat down. He was dressed in a suit, but it wasn’t the kind of suit businessmen wore. In fact, it wasn’t the kind of suit anyone wore these days, and it took Jack a minute to realize where he had last seen one like it. It was in a movie – a western although he couldn’t remember the title – and a gunman had worn it. Then he remembered the cover to the original paperback of the novel Shane, an old west tale about a gunslinger, and remembered he had seen it there, too. The suit was black and consisted of pegged pants, a frock coat with a white shirt beneath, a string tie, and leather boots. The man wearing these clothes was tall and rangy, and looked very athletic. He sat down next to Jack without looking at him for several long minutes, then he pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, looking around the baggage area as if to assess the advisability of lighting up.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” Jack told him mildly. “Rules.”

  The big man gave him a smile. “Rules. Always rules. They get in the way of everything. You ever think how much easier life would be if we didn’t have rules?”

  “Wouldn’t things be a bit chaotic?”

  “Exactly my point. Chaos would dominate every aspect of our lives, and only those strong enough to survive the chaos would be able to determine how our lives were shaped.”

  Jack stared. What was this about?

  “I learned this a while back – far enough back that I can hardly remember that period of time in my life,” the man continued. “I’ve been who and what I am for longer than you’ve been alive, as a matter of fact. Much longer.”

  Jack was suddenly uneasy. “Funny. You don’t look that old.”

  “I suppose I don’t.” The big man stretched, his face contorting momentarily with the effort, giving him a very unpleasant look. Then his features relaxed, and he was back to himself again. “I’ve aged pretty well, kept myself in good shape, made certain that I met the goals that were set for me and not allowed anything to stand in my way. Sounds rather self-serving, but at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all do?”

  Jack frowned. “I’m not sure I agree with that. Many of us believe it’s in our nature to try to do things that serve the interests of others.”

  The other man laughed softly. “I know. But I also know that all those I have encountered who chose to follow that path are dead now.” He paused. “Jack.”

  His name on the big man’s lips caused Jack to reach for his black staff, which was cradled against his body. “How is it you know my name?”

  He knew the answer already, of course – knew, as well, what this man was and why he was there. He just couldn’t believe at first that it was finally happening. He had almost persuaded himself, with the passing of time, that it wouldn’t. It had been almost twenty years since he had been challenged by the Void, but it appeared from this conversation that he was about to be challenged again.

  “Relax,” the other man said, making a dismissive gesture. “I’m not here to cause you any harm. I just wanted to introduce myself. I don’t think we should remain strangers, given what I’ve come here to do. I think we should get to know each other, try to find out how we match up, see if we can decide who might win the confrontation we’re eventually going to have. Maybe you’ll decide it wouldn’t be a good idea to risk that confrontation. Maybe you’ll choose to back off and rid yourself of the burden of that black staff. Oh, I know what the staff is and what it can do. I’ve encountered it before a few times. It’s not going to be enough, Jack.”

  “Is that so.”

  “Yep. I’ve been able to determine as much. Several times. Tells you something about me, doesn’t it? See, there aren’t many like me, Jack. Some others who called themselves Knights of the Word found that out the hard way. They made the mistake I spoke of earlier – the mistake of thinking that choosing the interests of others over their own was somehow correct. Those men are dead. And all of them died horribly. In a lot of pain. Saw their loved ones die, too. It would be a shame if you were to make the same mistake.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “Not very subtle, are you? Who are you, anyway? What’s your name? You already know mine. I should know yours.”

  The man in the gunslinger clothes shook his head. “I don’t have a name. I’m only a rumor. No one wants to know the name of someone like me. They just hope we never come face to face. When they see me, they turn around and walk the other way. Could be that’s what you should do, Jack.”

  “Could be. How did you find me, anyway? How did you even learn where I was?”

  “Oh, it’s a gift. A sort of sixth sense. I can smell you. Smell out any and all Knights of the Word. I can track them, find where they have their hidey-holes and ferret them out. You, I came across by chance. I was staying in a hotel where you were attending a forestry conference or some such. Knew you for what you were immediately. Found out your name and address from the enrollment forms – with a little help of a young lady working the tables. She didn’t want to let me see them, but I changed her mind. I’ve come all the way from Los Angeles to meet you.”

  “I imagine Los Angeles is missing you already.”

  The big man snickered. “Funny.” He looked off into space a moment and then back at Jack. “Let me explain what is going to happen. I’ve come to Seattle, I’ve found you here, I will find where you live, I will get to know all about your family and friends, I will make myself a part of your life, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. You can, however, rid yourself of me by being smart enough to avoid the mistakes of those other Knights of the Word I’ve been forced to dispatch. You can throw down your staff and walk away from your commitment to the Word. Do that, and you will be safe.”

  Jack felt a shiver of fear in spite of himself. He thought of Anne and the children – his daughter ten, his son only a baby – placed at risk from this monster. His friends, as well. But he held his ground because to show doubt or fear now would be a mistake.

  “Maybe I don’t believe you are as powerful as you seem to think.”

  The big man nodded slowly and got to his feet. “Well, that’s as it may be. Let’s give it a little time, see how things shake out.” He touched his nose with one finger. “Be seeing you.”

  Off he walked without looking back. Jack watched him pass down the line of carousels until he found the one he was looking for, reclaim a black satchel and walk towards an exit. Just before he got there, he turned back and gave Jack a final look.

  Then he was gone, taking with him any chance Jack might have had of being able to stop looking over his shoulder in the days ahead.

  Chapter 8

  The first of
the dreams promised by the Lady almost twenty years earlier arrived that same night. It arrived as dreams do, uninvited and unannounced, and in this case, unwelcome. By the time it showed itself, Jack was deep asleep, with Anne curled up beside him. Ten-year-old Mila was tucked away in her bedroom down the hall, and the baby, Jack Jr. – at fourteen months no longer requiring nighttime feedings but still prone to the occasional unscheduled nighttime waking – was in his railing-enclosed bed in the adjoining alcove where they could hear him cry should he unexpectedly wake.

  Further down the hall, the family cat – an orange tabby named Scoot, who had been rescued from the streets by Mila – was asleep in the laundry.

  The lights inside the house were all extinguished except for one nightlight in the bathroom and a second in the alcove wall. Outside the skies were heavily clouded, erasing any trace of moon or stars and leaving the surrounding neighborhood wrapped in a hazy, misty half-light generated by a combination of city streetlights reflecting off the low-hanging brume and a few neighborhood porch lights.

  Jack had managed to spend most of the evening not thinking about the man at the airport, having dismissed him from his thoughts after meeting his client and driving him to his nearby hotel. The memory remained, however, and refused to be so easily banished; the man’s thinly veiled threats were troubling.

  But on crawling into bed that night, Jack’s mind went back to their meeting, and the unpleasant realization of who and what the man was and lingered until he fell asleep.

  And so the dreams began.

  * * * * *

  He hears what he thinks are the furtive sounds of someone creeping about outside his house, and he sits up immediately, alert and ready. Rising from his bed, he picks up the black staff, goes to the front door and steps outside. The night is hazy and his surroundings indistinct. While there is no explanation for it, he is fully dressed and wearing a coat against the chill. He looks around, decides that the sounds he was hearing were from someone who had slipped away, and decides to go after them. It is a foolish decision; he is leaving his family alone and unprotected, but he goes anyway because somehow, some way, he knows he must.

  He crosses his yard to the front sidewalk and turns up the darkened street. The one he is tracking has gone this way. Again, he just knows, although he does not understand why. He moves quickly up the street, anxious to discover if what he searches for presents a threat to his family, anxious to put a stop to it. He spies movement in the darkness ahead, a glimpse of a momentary shadow sliding across the edges of a circle of light from a street lamp, there and gone again in an instant.

  Got you, he thinks.

  Sprinting ahead, he reaches the spot where his prey had given itself away, but there is no one there. He casts about, then spies faintly glowing paw prints indented in the soft grass to one side. Paw prints signal that whatever he chases is not human. He notes the size of the prints. Huge, deep outlines indicate something big and heavy – something much larger than he is. A creature of the Void, in all likelihood. A demon.

  An ordinary man would turn back at this point, but he is a Knight of the Word and possesses the power of his black staff, which can overcome anything. There will be no hesitation, no turning back, no second thoughts.

  He continues on, proceeding more quickly than before, his eyes scanning the gloom. He is moving between a screen of residences now, crossing a series of back yards, turning down alleyways, still following the faintly glowing tracks; the paw prints leave a clear, unmistakable trail for him to follow. He finds himself thinking that perhaps he is moving too quickly, rushing to a confrontation he might not be ready for. But the freshness of the tracks compels him to continue.

  Then, abruptly, he reaches a neighborhood of stately old houses, most of which have been here for more than sixty years. They speak of stature and money, and they straddle portions of the tangled old growth that comprises Schmitz Park.

  He has no idea how he has gotten this far from home. He is miles away by now. Impossible.

  He slows now. The tracks are visible as he crosses Admiral to the park entrance, an open invitation. Come in; see if you can catch me. This time Jack hesitates. There are no lights in the park, and the shadows cast by the great old trees are deep and concealing. Mingled with the drifting trailers of mist, they create a heavy blanket of gloom over the entire park. There is a silence emanating from that fortress of trunks and limbs that is unsettling. No sounds are audible, and nothing moves in the darkness.

  He is momentarily undecided.

  Then, his decision made, he proceeds across the car lanes and into the thicket of Schmitz Park’s formidable undergrowth, keeping to the pathways. Behind him, the last of the streetlights disappear. He is alone now, wrapped in mist and darkness.

  To his left, shadows move suddenly, as something attacks. His hands lift his staff to protect himself. He is struck a blow that sends him sprawling and everything goes dark.

  * * * * *

  He was in his bed when he woke again – only this time for real – shocked out of his sleep by what he had dreamt. He waited until his head had cleared itself of the lingering after-effects from his nightmarish dream and went into the bathroom. Once he had relieved himself and drunk some water, he walked down to the kitchen to find Scoot pawing at the back door and meowing. Since the cat was a stray and spent large amounts of time outdoors anyway, Jack didn’t hesitate to open the door and let him out. Scoot was gone in a flash of orange fur, leaving Jack peering blindly into the darkness as if he might somehow see something from his dream. But there was nothing there.

  After a few minutes of staring, he closed and locked the door and went back to bed.

  Immediately, the dream returned.

  * * * * *

  He is picking himself up off the ground now, aware that a night bird – likely an owl – has flown into his head, striking him a glancing blow but causing no other damage. He stands where he is for a few minutes, regaining his composure, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. They do so quickly, allowing him to locate the vague outline of a pathway that runs deeper into the park.

  He no longer sees the glowing paw prints on the ground before him.

  Until, suddenly, they appear again.

  He sets off to track them to their source, angry now at this intrusion into his sleep, but worried as well, as it increasingly appears that magic is at work. And not the good kind. Whatever is out there is making a point of toying with him, always staying a step ahead and just out of reach. But this will end soon enough because he will catch up to his elusive prey and put an end to this hunt.

  Deep into Schmitz Park he walks, following the tracks, which are staying on the pathway. Nothing has changed, and increasingly nothing seems to make any sense. Several times he thinks to turn back, to end this foolishness. Let this creature he hunts go its own way. Go back to bed and get some sleep before the night is over. He will have other chances to encounter whatever leads him on, and better opportunities for settling matters. All he is doing now is wasting time and energy.

  Yet he hates to give up. He hates to admit defeat, however temporary or questionable.

  He continues on. He walks until he reaches the darkest part of the park and slows. Something waits on the path ahead – something huge and unidentifiable in the gloom. The glowing tracks end where it stands, fading away even as he watches.

  He hesitates and then moves forward. The nearer he goes, the less he can tell of what awaits. But his instincts scream to him in warning. This is something very dangerous. This may be too much for him. Turn back now!

  But he doesn’t, and suddenly he realizes that whatever has been waiting is coming towards him. It seems to grow larger as it advances while at the same time becoming even less distinct. It is a shadow, a patch of gloom, a monstrous gathering of inky darkness formed out of a combination of his fears and uncertainty.

  It is his own death.

  He attacks furiously, charging to meet its advance, determined to bani
sh it or kill it or do whatever else is needed, but still it comes for him.

  And then he realizes in horror that the magic of his staff is not responding, and the thing on the trail is on top of him, bearing him down, swallowing him up. He has no defenses, nothing left to turn to . . .

  * * * * *

  This time, when he woke, he was sweating and had wrapped himself in the sheets and blankets. All of them. Anne is asleep next to him, but her huddled form suggested she was probably more than a little chilled. So, he untangled himself and draped the bedding over her, careful not to wake her. Then he got up again and went back into the bathroom for another drink of water.

  When he emerged, he paused. Something was drawing him towards the kitchen. He went down the hallway in the darkness, aware suddenly that he had left his staff in the bedroom. The doors were locked, the house quiet, and his instincts would have warned him if there were an intruder.

  Still, something did not feel right.

  He entered the kitchen and looked around. Nothing. He listened to the night for several long moments and heard only silence. He almost went back to bed and then remembered Scoot. Walking over to the back door, he turned on the porch light and looked out.

  And saw what was left of Mila’s cat scattered in pieces all over the walkway.

  Chapter 9

  Jack slept poorly for the rest of the night, the dreams gone, but still a fresh, raw memory. It was bad enough that the dream had left him feeling as if he had been a witness to his own death – caused in no small part by the failure of his black staff, his sole protection as a Knight of the Word, to ward him against a creature of the Void. The fear that the talisman on which he relied so heavily might somehow fail him was distressing. But finding poor old Scoot eviscerated on his back porch – a real life horror and not a dream – was worse.

  On discovering the remains of the cat, he had acted quickly to remove all traces. He did not want Mila to wake and find Scoot’s remains when she walked out the door. So he had thrown on a coat and slipped on his work boots and gloves and gone out into the yard in the dead of night to remove the evidence. He gathered up the remains, placed them in an old shoebox, then retrieved a shovel from the garage to dig a hole. It was cold, and the ground was hard. It was miserable work, but it had to be done. It took him about an hour to complete, and when he had finished by hosing down the walkway, he came back into the house to find Anne waiting in bed with the light on and a book in her hands.