Armageddon’s Children

FOUR

THE LADY CAME to Logan Tom for the first time in a vision. Even now, he could remember the details as clearly as if the meeting had taken place yesterday. He was alone by then, Michael and the others gone, traveling north toward the Canadian border. He had stopped for the night on the shores of one of a thousand lakes that dotted that region, somewhere deep inside what had once been Wisconsin. The day was gone and night had settled in, and it was one of those rare occasions when the skies were clear and bright and free of clouds and pollution. Stars shone, a distant promise of better times and places, and the moon was full and bright.

He had gotten out of the Lightning and was standing at the edge of the lake, staring off into the moonlit distance, pondering missed chances and lost friends. He was in a place darker than the night in which he stood, and he was frightened that he might not find his way out. He was riddled with misgivings and guilt, wrapped in a fatalistic certainty that his life had come to nothing.

His wounds were healed, but his heart was shattered. The faces of those people he had loved most after Michael–his parents and his brother and sister— were vague images that floated in hazy memories and whispered in ghostly, indecipherable warnings.

You have to do something. You have to find a purpose. You have to take a stand.

He was eighteen years old.

A sudden movement in the darkness to his right caused him to glance down the shoreline. A fisherman stood casting into the waters not twenty yards from where he stood. He watched as the rod came back and whipped forward, the line reeling out from the spool, the filament like silver thread. The fisherman glanced over and nodded companionably. His features were strong and lean in the moonlight, and Logan caught the barest hint of a smile.

"Catching anything?" Logan asked him.

But before the fisherman could reply, there was a noise off to his left, and he wheeled about guardedly. Nothing. The shoreline was still and empty, the woods behind the same.

When he looked back again, the fisherman was gone.

A moment later, he saw a tiny light appear somewhere far out over that water, little more than a soft shimmer at first, brightening slowly to something more definable. The light, diffuse at first, gathered and then began to move, drifting toward the shoreline and him. He stood watching it come, even though he knew he should move away, back toward the AV and safety. He didn't even bother to shoulder the flechette, letting it hang useless and forgotten from its strap across his back. He couldn't have said why. His training and his instincts should have made him react quickly and decisively. Self–preservation should have been his only concern.

Yet the light held him spellbound–as if he realized even then that it was the beacon that would provide him with the direction he sought.

When it was no more than a few yards away, bright enough that was squinting against its glare, one hand up to shield his eyes, it began to fade, and when it was gone, the Lady was there.

She was young and beautiful, her skin so pure and clear that it seemed to him, in the white cast of the moonlight, he could see right through her. She was dressed in a diaphanous gown that hung in soft folds about her slender body, white like her skin, her long black hair in stark contrast where it tumbled about her shoulders.

She stood several yards offshore–not in the water but upon it. As if it were solid ground, or she weighed no more than a feather.

"Logan Tom," she said.

He stared, unable to reply. He did not think he was hallucinating, but he had no other explanation for what he was witnessing.

"Logan Tom, I have need of you," she said.

She gestured toward the sky, and when she moved her garments rippled like soft shadows and revealed that her perceived translucency was real. She was a ghost–or at least more ghost than human.

"You are meant to be one of mine, one of my brave hearts, one of my great ones. I see it in the way you are revealed by the stars, as immutable and shining as they are. Yours is to be a path of great accomplishment, a path no other has taken before. Will you walk it?"

He started to say no, to back away, to do something to break the spell she had cast over him. But even as he made the attempt, she pointed toward him and said, "Will you embrace me, Logan Tom?"

In that instant he heard in her voice a power that he had not thought existed. It wrapped him in chains of iron; it bound him to her as nothing else could. He saw her for what she was; he recognized her vast, ancient power. The stars overhead seemed to brighten, and he would swear ever after that he saw the moon shift in the sky.

He dropped to his knees before her, not knowing why, just doing so, hugging himself against what he was feeling, lost to everything but her last words: Will you embrace me?

"I will," he whispered.

"Then you will become my Knight of the Word. As he was, once upon a time."

She pointed to his right, and when he looked the fisherman was back, standing on the shore, casting his line. He made no response to the Lady's gesture and did not turn to look at Logan Tom. It was the same man, but this time Logan understood instinctively who he was and what he was doing there.

He was the ghost of a Knight of the Word.

"It is so," said the Lady.

Logan blinked, then looked back to her. What do you want of me? he tried to say, and failed.

Yet she heard him anyway. "The efforts of my Knights to keep the balance of the Word's magic in check have failed. The balance is tipped, and the Void holds sway. Yet this, too, shall pass. You will help to see that this happens.

You shall be one of my paladins, my Knights–errant, my champions against the dark things. You will do battle on my behalf and in the name of the Word. Your strength is great, and few will be able to stand against you. In the end, perhaps none."

He licked his lips against the sudden dryness. "I don't know if…" His voice shook. "I don't know how to …"

"Give me your hand."

She moved closer to him, gliding across the waters, her own hand extended.

She approached to within a few feet, and her closeness caused him to shudder. He could feel the heat of her presence, an invisible fire that brightened so that everything else disappeared. He stood alone in the circle of her magic, of her power.

He reached out and took her hand in his own.

Flesh and blood met heat and light, and the contact was sharp and penetrating, and it sent shock waves coursing through Logan's body. He gasped and tried to wrench free, but his body refused to obey him, standing firm against what was happening to it. The shock waves rose and fell, and then disappeared in the face of sudden strength that began to build from within him.

He was reborn then, made whole in a way he could not explain, but that embodied fresh determination and courage.

Visions of the future filled his mind, and he saw himself as what he could be, saw those he would impact and where he must go. The road he had been set upon was long and difficult, and it would exact much from him. But it was a road that burned with passion and hope, so bright with possibility that he could not even think now of forsaking the trust that had been given to him.

The Lady released him, a gentle withdrawal of her touch that left him suddenly empty and oddly bereft.

"Embrace me," she whispered. Without hesitation, he did so.

A SUDDEN LIGHT bloomed in the darkness of the trees off to his right, causing him to blink, and his memory of that first meeting with the Lady vanished. A second later the light became a fire burning hot and fierce. No one would light a fire at night in the open unless it was meant to be a signal.

He squinted against his confusion. Had he dozed off while waiting to discover who he was supposed to be meeting? He wasn't sure, couldn't remember.

One moment he had been thinking back to his first meeting with the Lady and the next the light had appeared. He took a moment to reorient himself. He was sitting in the AV, parked by the side of the road. Ahead, a broken iron crossbar sagged to one side and the road stretched away through a wide swath of moonlight to a heavy wood before branching left and right a hundred yards farther on to run parallel to the Rock River. He couldn't see the river, but he knew from the maps he carried that it was there.

A scarred wooden sign set off to one side reassured him that he was where he was supposed to be. Sinnissippi Park. His destination.

He turned on the engine and eased the AV ahead past the broken gate and up the cracked surface of the blacktop road. As he neared the fire, he saw a solitary figure standing close to it, a silhouette against the light. He slowed the AV to a crawl and peered in disbelief.

It couldn't be …

O'olish Amaneh. Two Bears.

He stopped the Lightning where she was, killed the engine, and reset the alarms. He took his staff from where it rested against the seat beside him, opened the driver's-side door, and climbed out.

"Logan Tom!" the last of the Sinnissippi Indians called out to him. "Come sit with me!"

Two Bears spoke the words boldly, as if it did not matter who heard them.

As if he owned the park and the night and the things that prowled both. Signaling that nothing frightened him, that he was beyond fear, perhaps even beyond death.

Logan lifted his arm in response. He still didn't believe it. But stranger things had happened. And would happen again before this was through, he imagined.

Cradling the black staff in his arms, he walked forward.

As he drew closer, Logan Tom could see how little Two Bears had changed in ten years. He'd been a big man when Logan first met him, and he hadn't lost any of his size. His strong face and rugged features showed no signs of age, and the spider web of lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth had not deepened. His copper skin glistened in the firelight, smooth and unblemished where it stretched across his wide forehead and prominent cheekbones. No hint of gray marred the deep black sheen of his hair, which he still wore in a single braid down his broad back. Even his clothes were familiar–the worn military fatigues and boots from some long–ago war, the bandanna tied loosely about his neck, and the battered knapsack that rested on the ground nearby.

When he reached him, the Sinnissippi took Logan's hand in both of his and gripped it tightly. "You have grown older, Logan," he said, looking him up and down. "Not so young as you were when we met."

"Didn't have much of a choice." Logan gestured with his free hand. "But you seem to know something I don't about how to prevent that from happening."

"I live a good life." Two Bears smiled and released his hand. "Are you hungry?"

Logan found he was, and the two moved over to where the fire burned in an old metal grill with its pole base set into a slab of concrete. Nearby was a picnic table that had somehow survived both weather and vandals. Plates and cups were set out, and eating utensils arranged neatly on paper napkins. Logan smiled despite himself.

They sat down across from each other. Though he had offered it, Two Bears made no effort to prepare any food for them. Logan said nothing. He glanced around the clearing and the wall of night surrounding it. He could not see beyond the glow of the fire. He could not see the AV at all.

"You are safe here," the other said, as if reading his mind. "The light hides us from our enemies."

"Light doesn't usually do that," Logan pointed out. "Is this an old Sinnissippi trick?"

Two Bears shrugged. "An old trick, yes. But not a Sinnissippi trick. The Sinnissippi had no real tricks. Otherwise, they would not have allowed themselves to be wiped out. They would still be here. Eat something."

Logan started to point out the obvious, then glanced down and saw that his plate was filled with food and his cup with drink. He gave Two Bears an appraising look, but the big man was already eating, his eyes on his steak and potatoes.

They ate in silence, Logan so hungry that he finished everything on his plate without slowing. When he had taken the last bite, he said, "That was good."

Two Bears glanced up at him. "Picnics used to be a family tradition in America."

Logan grunted. "Families used to be a tradition in America."

"They still are, even if you and I don't have one." The black eyes looked toward the road. "I see you still drive that rolling piece of armor Michael Poole built for you."

"He built it for himself. I just inherited it." Logan stared at the impenetrable black, seeing nothing. "I think of it as my better half."

"The staff is your better half." The Sinnissippi fixed his gaze on Logan.

"Do you remember when I gave it to you?"

He could hardly forget that. It was several weeks after the Lady had appeared to him and he had agreed to enter into service as a Knight of the Word.

He was waiting to be told what he must do. But she had not reappeared to him, either in the flesh or in his dreams. She had sent no message. He was frozen with indecision for the first time since Michael died.

Then O'olish Amaneh, the last of the Sinnissippi, arrived, a huge imposing man carrying a black staff carved from end to end with strange markings. Without preamble or explanation he asked Logan his name and if he had accepted his service to the Word, then said that the staff belonged to him.

"Do you remember what you said to me when I told you the staff was yours?"

Two Bears pressed.

He nodded. "I asked you what it did, and you said it did exactly what I wanted it to do."

"You knew what I meant."

"That it would destroy demons."

"You could not take it from me fast enough then. You could not wait to put it to use."

He remembered his euphoria at realizing what the staff would enable him to do in his service to the Word. He would do battle on behalf of those who could not. He would save lives that would otherwise be lost. He would destroy the enemies of the human race wherever they threatened. In particular, he would destroy the demons.

He would gain the revenge he so desperately wanted.

It was all he'd wanted then, still so young and naive. It was the natural response to his rage and pain over the losses he had suffered–of home, family, friends, and way of life. The demons and their minions had taken everything from him. He would track them down, dig them out of their warrens, expose their disguises, and burn them all to ash.

He had been adrift in the world and seeking direction. The Lady had shown him the way. Two Bears had given him the means to make the journey.

"Are you still so eager?" the Sinnissippi asked softly.

Logan thought about a moment, then shook his head. "Mostly, I'm just tired now."

"I hear your name spoken often," the other continued. "They say you are a ghost. They say no one sees you coming and no one sees you go. They only know you have come at all by the dead you leave in your wake."

"Demons and their kind."

Two Bears nodded. "They speak of you as they would a legend."

I'm not that." He shook his head for emphasis. "Nothing like it." He straightened and eased back from the table. "How are things in the wider world?

I don't hear much."

"There is little to hear. Things are the same as they have been for many years."

"The compounds still resist?"

"Some do. Fewer now."

"America the Beautiful. But only in the song."

"She will be beautiful again one day, Logan. Cycles come and go. One day the world will be new again."

He spoke with such confidence, with such conviction, that it made Logan's

heart ache with his need to believe. Yet everything he knew from his travels, everything he had witnessed, said otherwise.

He shook his head doubtfully. "What about the world right now? What about other countries? What about Europe and Asia and Africa?"

"It is the same everywhere. The demons hunt the humans. The humans resist.

Some humans become once–men, some slaves. Some stay free. The struggle continues. What matters is that the human spirit remains strong and alive."

"Then we are improving our chances of winning?"

The big man shook his head.

"Then what exactly are we doing?"

"Waiting."

Logan stared at him. "Waiting on what?"

The obsidian eyes pinned him where he was. "That is what we are here to discuss." He rose, his big frame straightening. "Walk with me."

He started to move away from the fire and into the darkness. Logan hesitated, hands tightening on the staff. "Wouldn't it be better if we talked here?"

Two Bears stopped and turned. "Are you afraid, Knight of the Word?"

"I'm cautious."

The big man came back and stood in front of him. "A little caution is a good thing. But I do not think you will need it this night. Come."

He started away again, and this time Logan reluctantly followed. They moved out of the circle of the firelight and into the darkness. At first, Logan could barely see. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that they were moving toward the river and the woods that bordered it. He could smell the sickness of the water, even here. The Rock River had gone bad on this stretch decades ago, poisoned first by chemicals and then by dead things.

He glanced off through the trees, searching for hidden dangers, but found only skeletal trunks and limbs. Somewhere distant, he heard an owl. It surprised him. He seldom heard birds these days. Save for the carrion birds, he almost never saw them. Like the animals and fish, their populations had been decimated by the wars.

"The Lady didn't tell me why I was to come here," he said, catching up to the other. "I assumed it was to be another demon hunt."

The big man nodded. "Your assumption was wrong. The truth, Logan, is that you can hunt and kill the demons until you are too old to walk, and they will still prevail. There are too many of them and too few of us. The world has been sliding down a steep slope for many years, and the climb back will be long and slow and painful. A new path must be found."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that killing demons will not restore the world. Humankind is fighting a war it cannot win."

They walked on without speaking for a time, their footfalls barely audible in the deep silence. Logan tried to absorb what he had just heard and could not make himself do so. Had he just been told that the human race was finished, that no matter what anyone did–the Knights of the Word included–it was over? He could not accept that, he decided. He could accept almost anything else, but not that.

"Are you saying we should just give up?" he asked finally.

The Sinnissippi glanced over at him. "If I tell you to give up, will you do so?"

"No, not ever."

"Then I will not ask it of you."

They reached the bluffs overlooking the Rock. Below them the river wound through its broad channel, silvery and sleek in the moonlight, its clean look belying the reality of its condition. Stunted clumps of dead trees lined the banks on both sides. On the far side, houses sat dark and empty. Once people lived in those houses, families with pets and neighbors and friends, and on nights like these they would laugh and talk and watch television and then sleep peacefully, knowing that when they woke, their world would not have changed.

Logan leaned on his staff. He was hot and stiff, impatient and tired.

"What are you trying to tell me? Because I'm not understanding."

Two Bears sat cross–legged on the rocks at the edge of the bluff and peered out across the river. Logan hesitated, then joined him, setting the staff on the ground beside him.

"Look around, Logan." The big man made a sweeping gesture. "This park was beautiful once, a haven watched over and protected by a sylvan, a gathering place for creatures of magic. But it is dead and empty now. No sylvan watches over it. All the sylvans in the world are gone. They were destroyed along with their forests. What will it take to bring them back? What will it take to make the park beautiful again?"

Logan waited a moment, then said, "Time."

"Rebirth." Two Bears looked directly at him. "Do you know what lies in this park? My ancestors. Almost all of them, buried in the earth, right over there."

He pointed to a series of dark mounds visible through the trees not far from where they sat. Logan wondered where this was going.

"I have strong memories of my people, but stronger memories still of a little girl who now also rests here. I met her in this park almost a hundred years ago, when I was younger than I am now." He smiled. "She lived in a house close by the entrance. She was a friend to the sylvan who tended the park. The park was her playground. When she was in it, she was at her happiest. She was followed everywhere by a spirit creature, a huge wolf dog born of magic. The creature, it turned out, was a part of her. Bad and good, it was a part of her.

She was the most important human being of her generation, but when I met her, she was still just a girl."

One eyebrow lifted quizzically. "Her name was Nest Freemark. Do you know of her?"

Logan shook his head. "No."

"I found her first, but two others were searching for her, as well.

One was a Knight of the Word named John Ross. The other was a demon. One had come to save her, the other to subvert her. She possessed great magic,

Logan. She was the linchpin to the future of the world, able to change the course of history because of who she was and what she might do. She didn't know any of it. She discovered a part of the truth of things over the course of the next fifteen years, but she did not ever know the whole of it."

"Why was she so important?" Logan caught sight of a pair of feeders lurking in the trees and forced himself to ignore them. "Is she the reason we're here?"

Two Bears nodded. "She rests in the cemetery just over the rise, behind the burial mounds of my people. She has been gone from the world for a long time now, but her legacy lives on in the form of a child born to her in the fall of her thirtieth year. It was her only child, a child she hadn't even known she would produce. It was born of magic, a creature of enormous power, her gift to the world we now live in because it is that world's best hope."

"Must be a rather old child by now," Logan observed.

"Almost eighty, but still only a child. It is not a human child–at least, not as we think of human children. It began life as a gypsy morph, a creature of a very powerful, wild magic. Gypsy morphs can assume any shape, take any form.

No two have ever turned out exactly the same. Only a handful of morphs are conceived in a human lifetime, and most are never even glimpsed. But John Ross trapped this one on the Oregon coast, and after it had gone through its changes and taken the shape of a small boy, he took it with him to this town to find

Nest Freemark. Its purpose in life was to become her child, born to her in the aftermath of the battle that took Ross's life. The morph entered Nest Freemark in one form and emerged in another. Only she knew its origins and its secrets.

Only she knew what it really was."

He paused. "Knowing what it was, she kept it apart from the rest of the world, living mostly alone. It stayed with her for a time–we don't know how long exactly–and then it disappeared. I kept waiting for it to resurface, but its time had not yet come. By then, the world was drifting toward anarchy and the seeds of the Great Wars had begun to take root. I searched for the child without success; wherever it was, it was well hidden. Very few can hide from me, but this one did. I could not track its magic because I could not define what it was. The magic of each gypsy morph, like the morph itself, is unlike that of any other.

Wild magic is unpredictable; it may turn out to be either good or evil. The demons sought to capture and make use of this morph, aware of its potential. But

Nest Freemark saved it."

Logan looked out across the river. "You're about to tell me that it's reappeared, aren't you?"

Two Bears nodded. "Its time is now, after all these years. Its purpose is known. The Lady has divined it. But it is still a child, still in a child's form with a child's mind. It will know what to do when it is time, but not how to survive until then. It must have help for that. It must have a protector."

Logan sighed. "That would be me?"

"Whoever goes to the aid of this child will be attacked from all sides.

The demons will do anything to destroy it or to stop it from fulfilling its purpose. I know of no one better able to withstand the demons than you, Logan.

The Lady has made her choice. I think she has chosen well."

The owl hooted softly, closer now. Sylvans had once ridden owls, Logan remembered. Six–inch–tall fairy creatures with long life spans and tiny bodies made of sticks and moss, their given task was to care for trees and plants. He had never seen one. Were they really all gone?

"What makes this child so important? What is it supposed to do?"

Two Bears leaned forward and rested his elbows on his crossed legs. His copper face dipped into shadow. "It is going to save humankind, Logan."

"That's a tall order." He tried to keep the incredulity from his voice.

"How is it going to do that?"

The Sinnissippi considered his answer for a moment. "I told you earlier that the climb out of the abyss would be long and difficult. What I did not tell you is that only a few would make that climb. Most will perish in the effort.

The demons have won their war against the old world, and no amount of retribution is going to change that. The evil has penetrated to the core of civilization. A fire is coming, huge and engulfing. When it ignites, most of what is left of humanity will vanish. It will happen suddenly and quite soon."

"Sounds biblical." Logan shifted his weight toward the other man. "You're telling me the demons have managed to get their hands on nuclear weapons and intend to use them? On a massive scale?"

The black eyes glittered from out of the shadow of the heavy brow. "What the demons either do not appreciate or do not care about is that it will prove indiscriminate in its destructiveness. Bad and good alike will be consumed. Most of the demons will perish, too."

"That part sounds pretty good. But the morph can prevent all this in some way?"

"No one can prevent it. Nothing can stop it. But the morph has the means to survive it, the means to transcend the destruction and allow a handful of the world's inhabitants to start anew."

"How is it going to do that?"

The Sinnissippi rocked backward slowly. "By opening a door that leads to a safe place."

"For a chosen few?"

"For a scattering of men, women, and children who will find their way to you."

"The remnants of humankind."

"Some. Not all will be human."

Logan hesitated on hearing that, but decided not to pursue it. "Where will the child find this door?"

"The child will know."

Logan felt a keen sense of frustration. Nothing about any of this seemed very clear. "One problem. If you can't find this child, how am I supposed to? I don't have the skills for that."

"You won't need them. You will have its mother's help." He climbed to his feet. "Come, Logan. We will walk some more."

He led the way through the trees and past the burial mounds toward the remains of a wire fence that had long since rusted away into orphan posts and twisted ends. Logan followed the Sinnissippi in silence, but his eyes kept scanning their surroundings. He was still unconvinced that they were as safe as the big man seemed to think. He had spent too many years looking over his shoulder ever to think of himself as being safe. The habits of his lifetime could not be put aside easily.

On the other side of the fence, they found the cemetery. Rows of stone markers in various stages of decay poked up through heavy weeds. Some of the markers had fallen over completely. Many had been vandalized, their inscriptions so badly defaced that they were unreadable. Logan didn't know how cemeteries were supposed to look. No one had used cemeteries since before he was born. But he could envision how this one would have appeared if it had been kept up. It made him sad, thinking of so many lives forgotten. Still, he supposed, you carried your memories of the dead in your heart. That was the safest place for them.

Two Bears took him onto the bluffs, into a smaller section of the cemetery that was divided from the larger by a cracked and buckled blacktop road. They walked through the weeds and grasses and marble and granite stones to a pair of massive oaks. A plain, unadorned marker sat by itself in front of the trees.

The big man stopped and pointed at the marker. Logan stared at the writing. It read:

MARION CASE

Born September 2, 1948

Died March 21,2018

"Who is Marion Case?" Logan asked.

In response, Two Bears swept his hand in front of the stone, and the old writing melted away to reveal new.

NEST FREEMARK

Born January 8, 1983

Died My 29, 2062

FAST RUNNER

"I disguised it after the wars began, to hide it from those who might do damage even to the dead," the Sinnissippi said quietly.

"Even in her bones, there is great power. Power that should not fall into the hands of the wrong creatures."

Logan glanced over. "What does the inscription mean? Fast Runner?"

"She was an Olympic champion in the middle–distance events. She won many times. Even though it wasn't her most important legacy, it had special meaning for her. I came back after she died, buried her, and set this stone in place. I knew her work wasn't finished. But this is where she belongs. Sit with me."

He lowered himself to the ground over the grave site, crossed his legs, and folded his arms. Glancing about first, Logan followed. "What are we doing?"

O'olish Amaneh didn't answer. Instead, he put a finger to his lips to signal for silence. Then he closed his eyes and went very still. Logan watched him, waiting to see what would happen. After a moment, the big man began to chant softly in a tongue that was unfamiliar to Logan and must have been the language of his people. The chant rose and fell, filling the silence with its rolling cadences and sharp punctuation. Logan picked up his staff and held it in front of him, ready for anything. He had no idea what to expect. He worried that the sound of the chanting would bring things he would just as soon avoid.

But nothing appeared, not even the feeders he had seen earlier. After a few anxious moments, he began to relax.

Then tiny lights rose out of the earth, out of the grave itself, and danced on the air before him. The dance went on, the lights spinning and whirling and forming intricate patterns. The dance grew frenetic, and suddenly the lights flared a brilliant white, dropped to the earth like stones, and disappeared. The chanting stopped. Two Bears continued to sit without moving, his breathing quick and labored.

Logan blinked to regain his sight, blinded by that final surge of light.

When he could see again, Two Bears was looking over at him. It is done. She has given us what we need."

He reached down, scooped a scattering of white sticks from the grave, and slipped them into his pocket before Logan could determine what they were. Then he rose and started away. Again, Logan followed obediently.

They returned to the fire and the picnic table, where they seated themselves across from each other. The intensity of the fire had not diminished, even though neither of them had been there to feed it. Logan glanced around the clearing. Everything was as they had left it.

"This is how you will find the child," Two Bears said suddenly.

He laid a piece of black cloth on the surface of the table, spreading it out and smoothing it over. When he had the wrinkles brushed out and the material squared, he reached into his pocket and removed the white sticks, holding them out for Logan to see.

The white sticks were human bones.

"The bones of Nest Freemark's right hand," O'olish Amaneh said softly.

"Take them."

Logan decided not to ask the other how he had gotten the bones out of the coffin and the body of Nest Freemark. Some secrets you didn't need to solve.

Instead, he did as he was asked, accepting the bones and holding them cupped in the palm of his hand. He was surprised at how light and fragile they felt. He studied them a moment, then glanced questioningly at the big man.

"Now cast them onto the cloth," the other ordered.

Logan hesitated, then scattered the bones over the cloth. For a moment, nothing happened. The bones lay in a jumble, their whiteness stark against the dark surface. Suddenly they began to jerk and twist, and then to slide across the cloth and link together at the joints to form fingers and a thumb.

When they were still again, all five digits were stretched out in the same direction, pointing west.

"That is where you will find the child, Logan," Two Bears said softly.

"Somewhere west. That is where you must go."

He gathered up the bones, wrapped them in the black cloth, and gave the bundle to Logan. "The bones will lead you to the child. Cast them as often as you need to. When you have found the child, give it the bones of its mother and it will know what to do from there."

Logan stuffed the cloth and the bones into his jacket. He wasn't sure if he believed all this or not. He guessed he did. The world was a strange place now, and strange things were a regular part of it.

"After I find the child and give it the bones, then what?" he pressed.

"You are to go with it wherever you must. You are to protect it with your life." The Sinnissippi's eyes were strangely kind and reassuring. "You must remember what I said and believe. The child is humankind's last hope. The child is humankind's link to the future."

Logan stared at him a moment, then shook his head. "I'm only one man."

"When in the history of the human race has one man not been enough,

Logan?"

He shrugged.

"You will have help. Others will find their way to you. Some will be powerful allies–perhaps more powerful than you. But none will be better suited to what is needed. You are the protector the child requires. Yours is the greatest courage and the strongest heart."

Logan smiled. "Pretty words."

"Words of truth."

"Why don't you do this, Two Bears? Why bother with me? You are stronger and more powerful than any Knight of the Word. Wouldn't you be better suited to this task?"

O'olish Amaneh smiled. "Once, I might have been. Before the Nam and the breaking of my heart. Now I am too old and tired. I am too soft inside. I no longer want to fight. I am filled with the pain and sadness of my memories of the battles I have already fought. The history of my people is burden enough. I am the last, and the last carries all that remains of those who are gone."

Logan folded his scarred hands and placed them on the table. "Well, I will do what I can."

"You will do much more than that," the big man said. "Because there is something else to be won or lost, something of which I have not told you. What is it that you want most in all the world?"

He frowned, a darkness clouding his features. "You know the answer to that. It hasn't changed."

"I need for you to tell me."

"I want to find the demon that led the assault against the compound where my parents and brother and sister were killed."

"If you are successful in your efforts to find and protect the child," Two

Bears said softly, "you will have your wish."

He rose and held out his hand. "We are done here, and I must go. Others need me, too."

Logan was staring into space, coming to terms with the promise he had just been given. To find the demon that had killed his family had been his goal since

Michael had saved him. It was what he lived for.

Aware suddenly of the hand being offered, he rose and gripped it. "When will I see you again?"

The Sinnissippi shook his head. "You won't in this life. My time is almost over. I will pass with the old world into memory. The new world belongs to others."

Logan wanted to ask if it belonged in any way to him, but he was afraid to hear the answer. "Good–bye, then, O'olish Amaneh," he said instead.

"Good–bye, Logan Tom."

Logan released the other's hand and turned away, walking back toward the

Lightning. When he had reached the edge of the circle of firelight, he paused and glanced back. The last of the Sinnissippi had vanished, disappeared as if he had never been. Even the old knapsack was gone.

Logan Tom stared at the clearing with its empty picnic table and burning metal grill, then turned and kept walking.