The Paladin Prophecy

#7: DON’T CONFUSE GOOD LUCK WITH A GOOD PLAN.

He flipped the book to the final page, and the last rule Dad had written: OPEN ALL DOORS, AND AWAKEN.

The biggest question Will had been unable to answer: How did his dad know about the Prophecy? Because it was clear that his parents had known, or they wouldn’t have spent his whole life watching so closely for signs of his Awakening, then training and preparing him the way they did. But why that meant they had to keep him hidden while living like fugitives was another mystery.

He had to face the possibility that he’d never be able to ask Dad about it. He might never see either of them again. Who was going to take care of him now if they had been on that plane, or even if they hadn’t been? In the clear, cold, practical part of his mind, he knew that he’d have to do it, for the most part, by himself now.

Didn’t everybody, sooner or later, once you stared down the barrel of whatever form the truth is hiding in? We’re born; we die. In between you make the best of what’s handed to you, and you love the people closest to you.

What else is there?

At least he had friends now. But who could he turn to for answers to these big questions, the ones his parents had always guided him through before? Dave had been that guy, but he might be gone now, too. Could anybody, even a kick-ass Special Forces Wayfarer, come back from the Never-Was?

Will took out the dice from his pocket and looked at them. Black, with white dots. He wanted to believe these were the same unearthly devices Dave had shown him, but they looked and felt like regular dice. A little heavier and denser, maybe.

Without his realizing he’d moved, Will’s head eased down to the pillow. His orderly mind winked off as quickly as if he’d tugged a string to turn off a light.

Moments or hours later, Will heard a soft bing. He opened his eyes and saw his tablet on the desk, the screen turned toward him. The Center’s screen saver crest was bouncing gently from one side to the other.

He had no sense of how long he’d been out, but it was dark outside. Will glanced at his phone, still cupped in his hand: almost seven in the evening. Sunday. Still Sunday. The tablet sounded that gentle tone again. Will rubbed his eyes, walked over, sat at his desk, and touched the screen.

His syn-app appeared in his “room” and waved to him, smiling. “You’re not alone, Will,” said his syn-app. “And you never will be. Not while I’m around.”

“Thanks,” said Will dryly. “You’re a real pal.”

“You’ve been gone quite a while.”

“What, I’m supposed to keep you informed of my whereabouts now?”

“Not at all,” said the syn-app. “I was just worried about you.”

Will looked at his little double closely. “You sound like you mean it,” he said.

“I do.”

“Why should I believe you?” asked Will.

“If you can’t trust yourself, Will,” said his syn-app with a smile, “who can you trust? Would you like to see the photograph I found for you?”

“I’m sorry, which photograph?” asked Will sleepily.

“Of the helicopter.”

The screen filled with the hazy washed-out colors of ancient Kodachrome. A dynamic captured moment: An airfield, full of movement, a couple of helicopters lifting off and another in the air, closer to the camera, tilting in for a landing. A tropical jungle in the background framed the asphalt landing strip. An explosion bloomed above the palm trees.

A credit line along the bottom margin of the photo read The Battle for Pleiku, Vietnam/New York Times, September 14, 1969.

In the foreground, a soldier ran toward the landing chopper, his back to the camera. A tall man with big, broad shoulders, wearing fatigues and a worn leather flight jacket. Three round patches were sewn onto the back.

The first had a red kangaroo with the words SPECIAL FORCES below it. Beside that was the helmeted head of a knight and the words LONG-RANGE RECONNAISSANCE.

In the third patch were the silhouette of a helicopter and the words ANZAC/VIETNAM. Below that were the same call letters that Will had seen on Dave’s flight jacket: ATD39Z.

The man’s right arm was raised high in the air. It looked like he was hailing or signaling urgently to the pilot of the chopper just above him.

Holding up all five fingers.

That’s five.

In the caves, Dave never had a chance to say that before the wendigo took him. Was he saying it here, after the fact? Will’s heart leaped at the idea.

His eyes shot to the two dice sitting on his desk. The dots were glowing. As Will watched, the dice lifted off the surface and spun slowly … until a three and a two were facing him.

“That’s five,” whispered Will. “And it’s good to be alive.”

For the first time since leaving home, he believed it.

Will looked back at the photo. “In case I don’t see you again,” he said, “thanks for everything, mate.”

Will’s syn-app asked, “Did you know this person in the photo, Will?”

“I sure did.”

“Would you like me to find out anything else about him for you?”

Will thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “See if you can find a woman named Nancy Hughes. She’s from Santa Monica. If she’s still alive, she’d be in her early sixties. All I know is that she served as an ensign in the Navy Nurse Corps during Vietnam in 1969.”

“I’ll get right on it,” said his syn-app.

Will caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at his book of rules, lying open on the bed. Had he imagined it or had a page just turned by itself? Will walked over and his eye went to the middle of the page:

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