The Paladin Prophecy (35 page)

“He wouldn’t be ‘the Old Gentleman,’ by any chance?”

Dave cocked his head. “No, that bloke’s
captain
of the Other Team. Wrong side entirely. Our CO is nothing of the sort. He doesn’t have a name, really, although folks on the job sometimes use the term
Planetary Logos
.”

Will felt his whole body tingling. “You mean … God?”

“God?” Dave almost laughed. “Not hardly, mate.
That
one’s a thousand orders of magnitude removed from us. The Hierarchy’s a strictly local outfit with local responsibilities. No need to overreach. Trust me, the Other Team’s enough to keep us locked and loaded, with every man and his dog tending to their station.”

Will gulped in air, his head swimming. “So all these monsters, bugs, and ‘Fuzzy-Wuzzies’ from the Never-Was are part of the Other Team?”

“Absolutely. Minions of our deadliest enemy.”

“And they’re not human,” said Will.

“Nowhere near. But they’ve got plenty of human collaborators.”

“Like the Black Caps and the Knights of Charlemagne?”

“That’s right, mate,” said Dave admiringly. “You seem to be taking all this rather in stride.”

“Well, you know, after you hit me with ‘guardian angel,’ the rest just seems like ‘sure, whatever.’ How’d you get into all this?”

“The usual way,” said Dave. “I was recruited.”

Dave disappeared. Will saw only his own reflection in the mirror. A couple of younger students, who’d just wandered in behind him, stared at him warily.

“That’s right,” said Will. “I’m the new kid who talks to himself in the mirror.”

Shocked at how calm he felt, Will hurried out and went looking for the weight room. He found it near the far end of the Barn’s central corridor. It was a long, high-ceilinged space filled with gymnastic stations at one end—rings, bars, horses—and training machines and free weights at the other.

There were about a dozen athletes—about half from the cross-country team—stretching on rubber mats in the middle. As Will entered, the few who noticed—Durgnatt, Steifel, and the African American kid Wendell Duckworth—gave him the cold shoulder. Todd Hodak trotted on a treadmill nearby. No sign of Coach Jericho.

Will assessed his options. He could lower his eyes, go submissive, and try not to provoke them. Hope that Todd and his pack ignored him. But if some of these kids—maybe all of them—were the Knights …?

Maybe now was a good time to find out.

Will grabbed a towel and jumped on the treadmill next to Hodak. He nudged up the speed until he was running at Todd’s pace, then looked over at him and grinned.

#31: IT’S NOT A BAD THING, SOMETIMES, IF THEY THINK YOU’RE CRAZY.

“We should just drop the
masks
,” said Will.

Hodak shot a wary look at him. “What did you say?”

“Let’s stop pretending,” said Will casually. “You can bully me every single day I’m here, and even if you succeed? I will still take you down on the course. I own you there, and you know it. I am the CEO of Beat Todd Hodak, Incorporated Dot Com.”

Todd turned off his treadmill and stepped away. Breathing deeply, his upper body rippling with stress.

“You seem tense, Todd,” said Will, stepping off the treadmill and following him. “Did you have a rough … 
knight
?”

Todd’s face flushed bright red when he heard the word. He balled his fists. Will moved right next to him.

“I don’t care who you are,” said Will quietly. “If you ever take another shot at me, or if you or your stooges hurt any of my roommates, including Brooke
—especially
Brooke—I’m painting a bull’s-eye on you. And I will tear you up.”

That ought to do it
.

Will turned his back on him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Todd give the nod to Durgnatt and Steifel. Both stood up and jammed straight at him.

Here comes the pain
.

Durgnatt, the dark-haired one, lunged at Will, grabbed him by the elbows, and pinned his arms behind his body. Steifel went for Will’s legs. Together, they lifted him off the ground. Will didn’t resist. The rest of the team reacted as if they’d rehearsed. Two went to the doors as lookouts. The others gathered around the mat in the middle, where Durgnatt and Steifel forced Will to his knees.

Todd grabbed Will by the sweatshirt and cocked back his fist. Will focused his eyes between Todd’s eyebrows. With a lot more confidence than he’d felt the last time, Will pushed a picture at him:

Hit Durgnatt
.

Todd’s right hand flew right past Will’s chin and slammed Durgnatt in the nose. The big kid let go of Will and cradled his face, blood leaking between his fingers as he crumpled to his knees. Todd stared at his fist as if he couldn’t believe what it had just done. He cocked another punch.

Hit Steifel
.

Todd’s left hook nailed Steifel flush on the side of the head. Dazed, Steifel staggered away. Will hopped to his feet, danced around shaking his hands, then added a Bruce Lee shuffle for fun.

“What the hell, Todd?” said Durgnatt, looking at the blood.

“Hold him still next time, idiots,” said Todd. “Get him!”

Every guy in the room rushed at Will. They collided from all directions with Will smack in the middle. Their momentum carried the entire scrum to the floor. Will tucked and landed under them. Lowering his head, he tunneled toward daylight, struggling to breathe with their weight squirming on top of him. He summoned his energy into focus again and pushed a picture at the whole group:

Hit him in the package
.

A short rabbit punch got thrown by every man in the pile at the crotch of the man closest to him, in perfect unison. Will heard a chorus of yelps as the shots connected. Everyone fell sideways, moaning and writhing in pain.

Will snaked out from under the pile, shoving a few groaners aside, and scrambled to his feet. Halfway up, something slammed hard into his back and knocked the wind out of him. He fell forward, turned, and saw Todd staring at him savagely, holding a weighted hardwood club. Will gasped for air like a fish flopping on a dock. His thoughts scattered, veering toward panic.

Todd threw his legs out, dropped his rear end on the mat, and hammered his elbow into Will’s ribs, driving what little breath he had left from his body.

Oof. That really hurt
.

Still bent over and moaning, the others gathered in a circle around them. Todd straddled Will’s chest, then knocked his arms away to take a free shot at him. Others grabbed Will’s arms and pinned them to the mat. Will gasped for air. Short of oxygen, he couldn’t summon the energy to defend himself.

This was about to get completely out of hand.
What the hell, Dave? Good time for the guardian angel to put in an appearance, don’t you think?

Through the crowd, Will caught a flash of movement as the nearest door flew open. A shape soared up onto the hanging gymnastic rings nearby, whipped around in tight circles, and then streaked toward them.

As Todd prepared to rearrange Will’s face, a pair of feet slammed into Todd’s shoulder and sent him tumbling into his teammates. About four other kids went flying. A familiar face popped into view in front of Will.

“Whose happy fun-time idea was this?” said Nick, grinning.

Nick launched a series of backflips across the mat as the team gave chase. Nick hopped up out of the last flip, landed on top of a pommel horse, then
reverse
somersaulted back toward Will. He landed on three of the kids. They crashed into each other, and the ones behind them scattered like bowling pins.

When Durgnatt and Steifel ran at him, Nick sprinted to the uneven bars. He caught the low bar, spun all the way around, let go, flew up, and grabbed hold of the high bar. He circled twice, doubling his speed, then let go, extending his legs and power-kicking both kids into a padded wall, where they crumpled and lay still.

“Next, please,” said Nick.

With most of them disabled—including Todd, on his hands and knees, dazed and wobbling—the few who could still walk slunk away. Nick yanked Todd to his feet.

“Run
that
down, Ho-Dick.”

Nick pushed him with one finger and Todd keeled over. Nick flipped backward onto a springboard, arced into the air, dove to the ground, tumbled across the mat, and landed next to Will. He knelt down and helped Will to his knees.

“You all right, bud?” asked Nick.

Will nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

“Twelve against one. Slick move, ace. Lucky I came in when I did.”

“Hey,” said Will, finally able to speak. “
Forget
geography, man. Stick with gymnastics.”

Coach Jericho came through the door, clipboard and whistle in hand. He stopped cold when he saw his squad lying on the ground, moaning, bleeding, or cowering in fear. Todd saw Jericho and staggered to his feet.

“Hey, Coach,” said Todd.

Todd stumbled a few steps toward him and collapsed face-first. Jericho’s gaze settled on Nick and Will, the only uninjured bodies in the room. His eyes flashed with anger.

“McLeish, you chuckwagon, what the hell are you doing here?”

Nick and Will grabbed hands and pretended they were stretching.

“Just stretching out my roomie, Coach,” said Nick.

“What happened?” asked Jericho.

“Not real sure, Coach, we just came in,” said Will. “But if I had to guess … it looks like they overtrained.”

COACH JERICHO

Coach Jericho took them into the hall and chewed them out for two minutes. The man could cuss like a drill sergeant, but they both stuck to their story. When the coach realized this was going nowhere, he dismissed Nick and walked Will to a room down the hall. It was carpeted, hushed, and three of its walls held massive trophy cases. Jericho didn’t speak as Will looked around. Every competitive sport imaginable was represented. There were cups and medals, ribbons, and trophies going back nearly a hundred years.

“These all your teams, Coach?” asked Will.

“Wiseass,” said Jericho. “What does it tell you?”

“That they’ve always been competitive. For a bunch of over-privileged jerks.”

“Tradition. Tradition and history,” said Jericho. “Dishonor the past, and you disgrace the present and destroy the future. Where’d you come from?”

“California.”

“I know that. Where you’d
come from
?”

“I don’t know,” said Will honestly.

“Kids show up here full of ego, self-importance, and the foolishness of the culture that raised them. It’s not their fault. If they leave here that way, that’s
our
fault.”

Will realized, with surprise, that he felt comfortable speaking openly to Jericho. Beneath his fierce appearance and temperament, the man seemed to be a straight shooter.

“I’m on board with that,” said Will.

Jericho moved closer, his eyes focused on Will’s. “All that matters once you’re here is what you have inside and how well you listen to what it wants to teach you. Learn that and you harmonize with
Wak’an
. The Great Mystery. Then you’ll know where you come from.”

Jericho’s dark eyes stared into him like an X-ray. The hairs on Will’s arms stood on end.

“Mysteries reveal purpose,” said Jericho, calm and conversational. “Life without purpose is its own punishment. You ever think about your purpose?”

“I have lately.”

Jericho walked over to a large globe on a stand, turning it as he spoke. “One of our purposes, collectively, is to serve as the guardians of our world.”

Now he’s starting to sound like Dave
, thought Will as he followed him.

“Do you know how terrible it is to watch your civilization lose its way?” asked Jericho.

“I’m sorry, you’re talking about …?”

“My people. Our beliefs, gods, culture. All that’s gone now,” said Jericho. “We know every civilization gives way to another. Every animal, every species, yields to one that takes its place. Impermanence. That’s reality.”

“So I’ve been told,” said Will, thinking of Sangren’s lecture.

“But that doesn’t mean you just surrender to evil. We can’t afford ‘you’ and ‘I’ anymore. Red, white, black, yellow—those distinctions no longer matter.” Jericho gave the globe a spin; all the colors blended into one. “We’re all one people or we’re not going to make it. You think there weren’t others before us? You bet there were. Before even my people walked this ground. Long before. Right here.”

Will felt the room go alarmingly still. “You mean … in Wisconsin?”

“They weren’t
like
us,” said Jericho as he stopped the globe. “But the same dangers destroyed them: Madness. Distraction. Disharmony. Societies catch diseases, too. Why do you think that is?”

“I have no idea,” said Will.

Jericho opened a carved wooden box on a shelf beside one of the trophy cases. He took out a bundle of four round sticks, with groups of feathers attached to the ends. He made some small circular gestures with them as he looked at Will.

“Because no one’s immune; imperfection’s part of being alive,” said Jericho. “What this world needs isn’t new ideas. What it needs is old wisdom. If you develop your
vision
, you’ll see a way forward. Become a warrior in the fight between dark and light. Do you have a favorite animal?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” said Will, mystified.

“Think about it. Look for an animal in your dreams,” he said, lightly touching the feathers to Will’s forehead. “Then tell me if you dream of bears … or weasels.”

*  *  *

“Bears or weasels?” asked Nick. “Give me a freakin’ break.”

“That’s what he said,” said Will.

They were trudging back to campus after finishing their workout, afternoon light fading fast. The wind had picked up, smacking them in the face, a different kind of cold. Dark clouds bunched on the western horizon and a deep barometric disturbance was massing in the air. The pressure was falling fast; heavy weather was headed their way, maybe the first winter storm of Will’s life.

“Weasel Holes, now weasels?” said Nick. “That’s so random. I mean, why not monkeys or chickens?”