Terry Brooks - Running With The Demon

Robert blinked in disbelief, hearing the fire in his wife's voice, seeing the stiff set of her back rigid within her flowered dress. Little Bennett was staring at Evelyn, her mouth open.

"Well, I don't think you have the right to tell me …" Enid Scott began, flustered and angry now.

"Understand something, Enid. I'm not standing here as an example of how a woman ought to live her life." Evelyn cut her short, brushing aside her attempt at defending herself. "Matter of fact, I've made some of the same mistakes you're making, and I've made them worse. I'm closer to you than you realize. That gives me not only the right to talk to you this way, but the obligation as well. I can see where you're headed, and I can't let you walk off the end of the pier without shouting out

a warning of some sort. So this is that warning. You can make a lot of mistakes in this life and get away with it. We both know that. But there's one mistake you can't make–not ever, if you want to live with yourself afterward. And that's not being there for your children when they need you. It's happened several times already. Don't say anything, Enid. Don't say it isn't so, because that would be a terrible lie, and you don't want to add that to your catalogue of sins. Point is, nothing bad has happened yet. But sooner or later, it will. If it does, that will be the end of you."

Evelyn held the other woman's gaze, took a quick breath, and stepped forward. Enid Scott flinched, and Bennett jumped. But all Evelyn did was reach down and take Enid's hand in her own, hold it, and then pat it gently.

"If you ever need anyone, you call me," she said quietly. "Any time, for any reason. You call me. I'll be there. That's a promise."

A few people were looking over now, sensing that something was going on, not sure exactly what it was. George Paulsen detached himself from the horseshoe competitors and sauntered over, mean eyes narrowing. "What's going on here?" he snapped.

Evelyn ignored him. "Are you all right, Enid? I didn't speak too harshly, did I?"

"Well," whispered Enid Scott uncertainly.

"I did, I expect." Evelyn continued to pat her hand, to hold it between her own, her voice soothing and calm. "I speak the way I do because I believe it is best to be direct. But I would like to be your friend, if you would let me. I know you have no family here, and I don't want you to think that you are alone."

"She ain't alone, she's got me!" George Paulsen declared, coming up to them.

Gran fixed him with a withering gaze. "Having you for company is not something I would think she would be anxious to brag on!" she snapped.

Paulsen flushed angrily. "Listen here, old woman …"

Old Bob started forward protectively, but Evelyn was too quick for him. She moved right up against George Paulsen, the index fingers of both hands aimed at him like the barrels of guns.

"Don't you mess with me, George," she hissed. "Don't you even think about it. You haven't the iron. Now, you listen to me. You can stay with Enid or not–that's between you and her. But if I hear one more story about you striking that woman or any of her children, if I see one bruise on any of them that I don't like the looks of, if I so much as see you raise a threatening hand against them, you will think that God must have reached down out of heaven and squashed you like a bug. Do you understand me, sir?"

George Paulsen flinched as her fingers slowly extended to touch his chest.

"And don't you believe for one minute that you can hide anything from me, George," she continued softly. "Even if you think I won't find out, I will. I'll come affer you, no matter how fast or how far you try to run from me." She lifted her fingers away. "You remember that."

For a moment Old Bob thought George Paulsen would strike Evelyn. But he must have seen something in her face or found something in his own heart that told him it would be a mistake. He tried to speak, failed, shot a venomous look at Enid, and stalked away.

There were a lot of people staring now. Evelyn ignored them, was oblivious of them. She turned back to Enid Scott and Bennett, gave Enid a reassuring nod and Bennett a smile. "You come by for ice cream, little one," she invited. "Nest and I would love to have you any time. Bring your mother with you when you do."

"Mrs. Freemark," Enid Scott tried, but was unable to continue.

Evelyn met her gaze, her own steady and fixed. "My name is Evelyn. That's what all my friends call me. You think on what I've said, Enid. I'll be looking in on you."

She walked back to Old Bob then, took his arm in hers, and turned him back toward the river. "Shame to waste a nice day like this standing about in the heat. Why don't we go sit out by the river and wait for Nest."

He stared at her. "You amaze me, Evelyn," he told her, not bothering to hide the astonishment in his voice. "You really do."

A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth, a hint of mischievousness that appeared and faded all at once. "Now and then, Robert," she replied softly. "Now and then."

Though he had not admitted it to Nest Freemark, John Ross had met O'olish Amaneh before. It was O'olish Amaneh who had given him his limp.

"Your old life is finished, my brave knight–errant," the Lady had whispered that night in the Fairy Glen as she held him to her, accepting the pledge of his faith, taking the measure of his strength. All about them, the fairies darted in the blackness of the water and the cool of the shadows, rippling with the sound of her voice in his ear. "Now, for as long as I deem it necessary, you belong to me. You will care for and be faithful to no other. You will forsake your home. You will forsake your family and your friends. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he had said.

"You will be asked to sacrifice, of your body and your soul, of your heart and your mind, in this world and the world to come. Your sacrifice will be great, but it will be necessary. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he had said once more.

"I brought you to me, John Ross. Now I send you back again. Leave this country and return to your home. It is there that you are needed to do battle in my service. I am the light and the way, the road you must travel and the life you must lead. Go now, and be at peace."

He did as he was told. He went from the Fairy Glen to his cottage in Betws–y–Coed, packed his bags, traveled east into England, and caught a standby flight to the States. He did so in the firm belief that his life had been changed in the way he had

always anticipated it one day would and with the hope that here, at last, was the purpose he had sought. He did not know yet what he was supposed to do. He had become a Knight of the Word, but he did not know what was expected of him. He carried inside him the blood of Owain Glyndwr, and he would be the Word's champion and do battle with the Void as his ancestor had before him. He did not know what that meant. He was terrified and exhilarated and filled with passion. The visions of the future that the Lady had shown him were burned into his mind forever, and when he recalled them they brought tears to his eyes. He was just a man, just one man, but he knew that he must do whatever was asked of him–even if it meant giving up his life.

But it was not real to him yet. It was still a dream, and as he traveled farther away from the Fairy Glen and that night, it became steadily more so. He went home to his parents, who were still alive then, to let them know he was well, but would not be staying. He was purposefully vague, and he told them nothing of what had befallen him. He had not been forbidden to do so, but he knew that it would be foolish to speak of it. His parents, whether they believed him or not, would be needlessly worried. Better that they thought him a wanderer still when he left them. Better that they lived without knowing.