Afterward, they walked back through the cemetery to the fence line in the waning light, listening to the dying sounds of a distant mower and the occasional honk of a car horn out on the highway. There was no one in the cemetery this night; its tree-sheltered, rolling green expanse was cradled in silence and empty of movement. The Midwest evening was sultry, the air tasted of sweat, and it felt as if time had slowed its inexorable march to a crawl. There was a sense of something slipping away, gone like chances at love or hopes for understanding.
“Thank you for telling me about her,” Nest said quietly as they walked down the blacktop roadway toward the park fence. Her eyes were dry again and her mind was clear.
“Well, you remind me of her,” John Ross replied after a moment. “That helps me in telling you what she was like.”
“I have pictures,” said Nest. “But it isn’t the same.”
“Not if you don’t have the memories of the times those pictures capture, no.” Ross limped steadily forward, his staff clicking softly against the blacktop with each step.
“I like your staff,” Nest ventured. “Have you had it a long time?”
Ross glanced over at her and smiled. “Sometimes it seems like I have had it all my life. Sometimes it seems like I was born with it. I think maybe, in a sense, I was.”
He didn’t say anything more. They reached the fence and slipped through the gap and into the park once more. They were back at the turnaround, close by the cliffs. The twilight was deepening, the sun gone down behind the horizon, leaving only its crimson wake to light the world. The family on the swings and the two cars that had been parked at the turnaround were gone. In the distance, the baseball games were winding down.
In the shadows of the trees that bracketed the cliff edge, feeders were gathering, their squat, dark bodies shifting soundlessly, their yellow eyes winking like fireflies. As John Ross and Nest passed down the roadway, their numbers grew. And grew still more. Nest glanced left and right nervously, finding eyes everywhere, watching intently, implacably. Why were there so many? The chilling possibility crossed her mind that they intended to attack, all of them, too many to defend against. They had never done anything like that before, but there was nothing to say they wouldn’t do so now. Feeders were nothing if not unpredictable. She tensed expectantly, wondering what she should do. Her heart beat fast and her breathing quickened.
“Don’t let them bother you,” John Ross told her quietly, his voice soft and calm. “They’re not here because of you. They’re here because of me.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment the words didn’t register. Then she looked at him in surprise and whispered, “You can see them?”
He nodded without looking at her, without appearing to look at anything. “As clearly as you can. It’s why I’m here. It’s why I’ve come. To help, if I can. I’m in service to the Word.”
Nest was stunned. They continued to walk down the darkening roadway through the masses of feeders as if taking a garden stroll, and Nest fought to collect her thoughts.
“You know about the feeders, don’t you?” he asked conversationally. “You know what draws them?” She nodded dully. “They are attracted to me because of the staff.” She glanced over immediately, eyes fastening on its black, rune-scrolled walnut length. “The staff is a talisman, and its magic is very powerful. It was given to me when I entered into service to the Word. It is the weapon I carry into battle each and every day. It is also the ball and chain that binds me to my fate.”
His words were muted and harsh, but strangely poetic as well, and Nest found herself looking at his face, seeing him anew. He did not look back, but continued to keep his gaze directed forward, away from her, away from the feeders.
“Are you a caretaker?” he asked after a moment. “Are you partnered with a sylvan to look after this park?”