21
I dreamed. Words swam through the dark well of sleep.
"Are you certain of this?" Deep and sure. A full white grin in the void.
It's too late to go back now. A strange, sinuous voice. Like dark music etched on bone.
A third voice, vaguely muffled and oddly familiar: "Never too late. If you want, boss, I can . . ."
That won't be necessary.
The first voice, hale and full: "He is the first to. . ."
Yes.
"And he has the sword. Proof positive – at least for –"
"Yes yes yes." The third voice cackled. "But, can he handle it? How long can he last? He's just a man. Barely a man. A kid. The woods nearly destroyed him."
We have come this far . . .
The first voice cautiously said, "And gambled, I suppose. I disagree – from what I saw, he handled it all well enough. Better than . . . Well, you know. Still, I do have my own misgivings. Can we just start over? If things don't work out?"
In that event, we will have to proceed with my plans without him. It will be less enjoyable, but in the end it will be necessary. Unfortunately, time grows short.
"You keep saying that. What does it even mean?" A sense of unease grew in the timbre of the first voice.
In due time, Latigo . . . In due time. In the meantime, watch this one for me. Make sure that he comes to his destiny. I will count on all of you to make sure that these will be times long remembered. Is that clear?
Simultaneously, the first and third voices intoned, "Yes, sir."
Good. Good. Gentlemen . . . we are going to have such glorious fun.
And then there was laughter, flat and emotionless as an arctic wind.
