decisively. Self-preservation should have been his only concern.
Yet the light held him spellbound—as if he realized even then that it was the beacon that would provide him with the direction he sought.
When it was no more than a few yards away, bright enough that he was squinting against its glare, one hand up to shield his eyes, it began to fade, and when it was gone, the Lady was there.
She was young and beautiful, her skin so pure and clear that it seemed to him, in the white cast of the moonlight, he could see right through her. She was dressed in a diaphanous gown that hung in soft folds about her slender body, white like her skin, her long black hair in stark contrast where it tumbled about her shoulders.
She stood several yards offshore—not in the water but upon it. As if it were solid ground, or she weighed no more than a feather.
“Logan Tom,” she said.
He stared, unable to reply. He did not think he was hallucinating, but he had no other explanation for what he was witnessing.
“Logan Tom, I have need of you,” she said.
She gestured toward the sky, and when she moved her garments rippled like soft shadows and revealed that her perceived translucency was real. She was a ghost—or at least more ghost than human.
“You are meant to be one of mine, one of my brave hearts, one of my great ones. I see it in the way you are revealed by the stars, as immutable and shining as they are. Yours is to be a path of great accomplishment, a path no other has taken before. Will you walk it?”
He started to say no, to back away, to do something to break the spell she had cast over him. But even as he made the attempt, she pointed toward him and said, “Will you embrace me, Logan Tom?”
In that instant he heard in her voice a power that he had not thought existed. It wrapped him in chains of iron; it bound him to her as nothing else could. He saw her for what she was; he recognized her vast, ancient power. The stars overhead seemed to brighten, and he would swear ever after that he saw the moon shift in the sky.
He dropped to his knees before her, not knowing why, just doing so, hugging himself against what he was feeling, lost to everything but her last words: Will you embrace me?
“I will,” he whispered.
“Then you will become my Knight of the Word. As he was, once upon a time.”
She pointed to his right, and when he looked the fisherman was back, standing on the shore, casting his line. He made no response to the Lady’s gesture and did not turn to look at Logan Tom. It was the same man, but this time Logan understood instinctively who he was and what he was doing there.
He was the ghost of a Knight of the Word.
“It is so,” said the Lady.
Logan blinked, then looked back to her. What do you want of me? he tried to say, and failed.
Yet she heard him anyway. “The efforts of my Knights to keep the balance of the Word’s magic in check have failed. The balance is tipped, and the Void holds sway. Yet this, too, shall pass. You will help to see that this happens. You shall be one of my paladins, my Knights-errant, my champions against the dark things. You will do battle on my behalf and in the name of the Word. Your strength is great, and few will be able to stand against you. In the end, perhaps none.”
He licked his lips against the sudden dryness. “I don’t know if…” His voice shook. “I don’t know how to…”
“Give me your hand.”
She moved closer to him, gliding across the waters, her own hand extended. She approached to within a few feet, and her closeness caused him to shudder. He could feel the heat of her presence, an invisible fire that brightened so that everything else disappeared. He stood alone in the circle of her magic, of her power.
He reached out and took her hand in his own.
Flesh and blood met heat and light, and the contact was sharp and penetrating, and it sent shock waves coursing through Logan’s body. He gasped and tried to wrench free, but his
Yet the light held him spellbound—as if he realized even then that it was the beacon that would provide him with the direction he sought.
When it was no more than a few yards away, bright enough that he was squinting against its glare, one hand up to shield his eyes, it began to fade, and when it was gone, the Lady was there.
She was young and beautiful, her skin so pure and clear that it seemed to him, in the white cast of the moonlight, he could see right through her. She was dressed in a diaphanous gown that hung in soft folds about her slender body, white like her skin, her long black hair in stark contrast where it tumbled about her shoulders.
She stood several yards offshore—not in the water but upon it. As if it were solid ground, or she weighed no more than a feather.
“Logan Tom,” she said.
He stared, unable to reply. He did not think he was hallucinating, but he had no other explanation for what he was witnessing.
“Logan Tom, I have need of you,” she said.
She gestured toward the sky, and when she moved her garments rippled like soft shadows and revealed that her perceived translucency was real. She was a ghost—or at least more ghost than human.
“You are meant to be one of mine, one of my brave hearts, one of my great ones. I see it in the way you are revealed by the stars, as immutable and shining as they are. Yours is to be a path of great accomplishment, a path no other has taken before. Will you walk it?”
He started to say no, to back away, to do something to break the spell she had cast over him. But even as he made the attempt, she pointed toward him and said, “Will you embrace me, Logan Tom?”
In that instant he heard in her voice a power that he had not thought existed. It wrapped him in chains of iron; it bound him to her as nothing else could. He saw her for what she was; he recognized her vast, ancient power. The stars overhead seemed to brighten, and he would swear ever after that he saw the moon shift in the sky.
He dropped to his knees before her, not knowing why, just doing so, hugging himself against what he was feeling, lost to everything but her last words: Will you embrace me?
“I will,” he whispered.
“Then you will become my Knight of the Word. As he was, once upon a time.”
She pointed to his right, and when he looked the fisherman was back, standing on the shore, casting his line. He made no response to the Lady’s gesture and did not turn to look at Logan Tom. It was the same man, but this time Logan understood instinctively who he was and what he was doing there.
He was the ghost of a Knight of the Word.
“It is so,” said the Lady.
Logan blinked, then looked back to her. What do you want of me? he tried to say, and failed.
Yet she heard him anyway. “The efforts of my Knights to keep the balance of the Word’s magic in check have failed. The balance is tipped, and the Void holds sway. Yet this, too, shall pass. You will help to see that this happens. You shall be one of my paladins, my Knights-errant, my champions against the dark things. You will do battle on my behalf and in the name of the Word. Your strength is great, and few will be able to stand against you. In the end, perhaps none.”
He licked his lips against the sudden dryness. “I don’t know if…” His voice shook. “I don’t know how to…”
“Give me your hand.”
She moved closer to him, gliding across the waters, her own hand extended. She approached to within a few feet, and her closeness caused him to shudder. He could feel the heat of her presence, an invisible fire that brightened so that everything else disappeared. He stood alone in the circle of her magic, of her power.
He reached out and took her hand in his own.
Flesh and blood met heat and light, and the contact was sharp and penetrating, and it sent shock waves coursing through Logan’s body. He gasped and tried to wrench free, but his
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