Matthew Woodring Stover Quote

Earth’s not so bad— How would you know? Tan’elKoth said acidly. It is only in these past few days that you have had contact with the actual realities of Earth. Are you having fun? He waved toward the window, where Kollberg now had one hand openly kneading his groin while he leaned one cheek and the side of his open mouth against the glass. Avery flinched and looked away. She hugged herself more tightly. I don’t understand. If you hate what they’re going to do, why are you helping them? I am not helping them! Suddenly he was on his feet, towering over her, shaking an enormous fist. I am helping you. I am helping Faith. I am . . . The passion drained out of him as swiftly as it had arisen. He let his fist open and fall limp against his thigh. I am trying to go home. Outside the window, Kollberg panted like an overheated dog. Well, Avery said finally. I’m afraid you’re out of luck. How do you mean? She shook her head. You’re such a man, Professional. That’s why you can’t find this link of yours. I do not understand. Of course you don’t. That’s what I mean: You’re a man. You think this link is with the river. It wasn’t. Faith spoke of it, in the car on our way back to Boston when I first picked her up. She was quite clear about it. Her link was never with the river. It was with her mother. Her mother—? Her dead mother, now. Tan’elKoth’s eyes narrowed. I have been a fool, he said. He spun and seated himself once again at Faith’s side, bending over her with redoubled energy. Power, he murmured. All that is required is a usable source of power— What are you doing? She’s dead, Tan’elKoth. There is no link. Dead, yes—but the pattern of her consciousness persists, even as your son’s does within me. It was trapped at the instant of her passing. It is powerless, yes—having no body to inform it with will. It is analogous to a computer program stored on disk, you might say: a structure of information that requires only a computer on which to run, and the necessary power to activate. What kind of power? From the doorway behind her, the soulless rasp of Arturo Kollberg said, My kind of power. DURING HIS YEARS of walking the world, the crooked knight came to find himself bemazed within a dark and trackless wood. In this wood, all paths led equally to death. The crooked knight did not lose hope; he turned to various guides for help and direction. His first guide was Youthful Dream. Later, he turned to Friendship, then Duty, and finally Reason, but each left him more lost than had the one before. So the crooked knight gave himself up for dead, and simply sat. He would be sitting there still, but for a breeze that came upon him then: a breeze that smelled of wide-open spaces, of limitless skies and bright sun, of ice and high mountains. It was the wind from the dark angel’s wings.