Ross stared, saw the sheen of the wood, the rune marks cut into the shiny surface, and the way the light played over both. He sat there on the bed, frozen in place.
“You are John Ross?” O’olish Amaneh asked him.
Ross nodded, unable to speak.
“You are a Knight of the Word?”
Ross bunked rapidly and swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Do you come from her?” he managed.
The Indian did not answer.
“Are you in service to the Lady?” he pressed.
“The staff belongs to you,” O’olish Amaneh insisted quietly, ignoring him. “Take it.”
Ross could not do so. He knew with sudden, terrifying certainty that if he did, there would be no turning back. The clarity of his knowledge was appalling. It was the staff, something in the way it gleamed, in its blackness, in the intricacy of its carvings. It was in the implacable way the Indian urged him to take hold of it. If he did so, he was finished. If he did so, it was the end of him. He was not ready for this after all, he saw. He no longer wanted to be a part of what had happened in the Fairy Glen, in Wales, in the realm of the Lady’s magic.
The Indian was a rock, standing, before him unmoved. “Your faith must be stronger than this,” he advised in a whisper. “Your faith must sustain you. You swore to serve. You cannot recant. It is forbidden.”
“Forbidden?” Ross repeated in disbelief. He was nearly in tears, filled with contempt for himself, for his weakness, for his failing resolve. “Don’t you understand?” he breathed.
The Indian gave no sign as to whether he did or not. “You are a Knight of the Word. You have been chosen. You have need of the staff. Take it.”
Ross shook his head slowly. “I can’t.”
“Stand up,” O’olish Amaneh ordered.
There was no change of expression in the big man’s face, no sign of disappointment, of anger, of anything. The eyes fixed on John Ross, calm and steady, as dark and deep as night pools, bottomless pits within the shadow of the great brow. Ross could not look away. Slowly he rose to his feet. The Indian came forward and held the staff out to him, before his terrified face, the carved markings, the polished wood, the gnarled length.
“Take the staff,” he said quietly.
John Ross tried to step away, struggled to break free of the eyes that held him bound.
“Take the staff,” O’olish Amaneh repeated.
Ross brought his hands up obediently, and his fingers closed about the polished wood. Instantly, fire ripped through his body. Oh, God! His left foot began to cramp, pain seizing and locking about it, working its way down to the bone. Ross tried to scream, but found he could make no sound. The pain intensified, growing worse than anything he had ever experienced, than anything he had imagined possible. His hands fastened so tightly about the staff that his knuckles turned white. He felt as if Ms fingers were imprinting the wood. He could not make himself let go. His foot jerked and twisted, and the pain climbed up his leg, cramping his muscles, tearing his ligaments, setting fire to his nerves. It bore into his knee, and now his mouth was open wide and his head thrown back in agony.
Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the pain was gone. John Ross gasped in shock and relief, his head sagging on his chest. He leaned heavily on the black staff, letting it support him, relying on its strength to hold him erect. My God, my God!
Slowly O’olish Amaneh stepped away. “Now it belongs to you,” the Indian repeated. “You are bound to it. You are joined as one. You cannot give it up until you are released from your service. Remember that. Do not try to put it from you. Do not try to cast it away. Ever.”
Then O’olish Amaneh was gone, out the door and down the hall, as silent as a ghost. Ross waited half a breath, then took a quick step toward the door to close it. He collapsed instantly, his foot turning in, his leg unable to bear the weight of his body. He struggled back to his feet, leaning on the staff for -support, and fell again. He sprawled on the floor, staring down at his leg. Once more he climbed to his feet, gritting his teeth, squeezing shut his eyes, so fearful of what had been done to him that he could barely breathe.