Shane found the Old Man waiting underneath

A spreading and a skeletal ash tree.

And he was not alone. Beside him stood

The Lady, with her ineffable smile,

The Old Woman, frowning upon her cane,

The Witchfolk King, rolling brown oak leaf shreds

Into a cigarette paper. The Old Man raised

His head and gravely said, “Now do I see

The fullness that I saw in you but half

Before, and thought the half the whole

And doubted if the half was worth the whole

Not knowing what I saw. I think you know,"

He smiled, “The Witchfolk King, the Three Ladies?

Though where the third is-“ “Boxer, but a word,"

The Lady interrupted. There was but

A single moment's weakness in her eyes

That gave the lie to her sphinx smile. “Do you

Know anything of my Granddaughter's fate?

She should have come with us, yet she did not,

And clouded are mine eyes, I cannot see

Beyond this world at all. If you know aught,

Then tell, if she is safe and where she is."

Shane shook his head, ashamed. “The Girl refused

To follow in your exodus, though we

Insisted she was not safe, could not stay.

She said if she stood with us, we would win.

But when the-“ Shane looked his question to the

Old Man, who nodded once, as if to say

'Say on, that name deals no more danger now,'

“-But when the Sulfur Carrier appeared,"

Shane continued, “I carried her, perforce,

In your retreating footsteps. I bore her

Through gateway hid behind the world tree.

But when I came to on the other side

I was alone. I know no more than you

Where your granddaughter is. I am sorry."

At that, the Lady's smile deserted her.

A thousand naked possibilities,

Some dreadful, some delightful, most which Shane

Could not interpret before they were gone,

Flashed through her countenance. She bowed her head,

Crying “I can foresee no more! Our hopes

Belong to her! Where she is gone, there is

Our future! Never will I know again

If we have a future!" Yet when she raised

Her eyes again, her lips again were curled

Into a knowing smile. “Be not concerned,

Boxer. Our fate is nothing to you now,

And you have wars more weighty far to win.

To us is given only to depart,

Diminish, melt into the sunset clouds,

Forget and be forgotten utterly.

Forget us." She smiled, turned and walked away.

Shane never looked upon her smile again.

The Old Woman snorted, “What, Falconi,

Do you intend to do? What plans have you

Sufficient to topple-" she caught herself

About to say what she did not intend,

“-the Sulfur Carrier? You have at last,

Against all odds and reason, made your peace

And found your place. All very well. What now?"

Shane did not look at her. He took his gloves

From round his neck and picked the knot apart

That held the laces one to the other.

And as he did he said, “I do not know."

And as he frowned he said, “How should I know?

What good are plans? What tactic now will serve

When everything relies on you, and you

Have nothing but yourself? What else is there

But to fling that small, scant, fragile yourself

Against the darkness, caring naught for life

Nor naught for death, and make every blow count,

And trust the gods to make good out of it.

What now? Why, as I always planned to do,

The only plan that I have ever made,

The only thing that there is left to do:

To hit it until one of us is dead."

Shane pulled his laces taut, and tied them off

With his teeth. The Old Woman chewed her lip

And did not meet his eyes. The Old Man swelled

As does a proud father on a proud son

Who marries, or is receives an honored crown,

Or is brought back from honorable death

In wars on foreign shores. But King Roam sneered

Around his oaken cigarette, and snapped

His fingers at the tip, and conjured flame

As if he'd popped a firefly between

His finger and his thumb. With the first puff

Of sweet astringent smoke, he began to

Talk so fast that Shane almost could not hear,

“Oh yes, he is your Hunger and your Rage,

And that is what's important, in the end,

And that is what a real man is proud of,

What matters Thought and Memory? At best

They only show you targets for your Rage

And for your Hunger, meat. So now, surprise!

When Thought and Memory you have ignored 

And obstinately cloven to the course

They ever told you above all to shun,

Behold, they have deserted you! Of course

The pugilist despises plans! Of course

He thinks that Hitting Things will work! Of course

You are proud of him for it! Very well!

You did not ask us if we wanted to

Become your Thought, and we did not entreat

To be your Memory. I do not care

If this thug asked to be Hunger or Rage:

It scarcely would surprise me if he had.

You made certain that we could not remain,

And you are doomed without us. May you go

Down spitting courage. That is what you want,

Or else you make no sense at all." “King Roam,"

The Old Man slowly said, “if you would come

Back with us, you may yet win the glory

You crave and thus despise." The Witchfolk King

Snickered and said “No fear! I know a trick

Worth two of that, to rescue me and mine,

Which is more than you have vouchsafed for yours.

Just as the cunning lizard drops his tail

And leaves the useless appendage squirming

In the dry dust to draw his predators

Away while he escapes, if I could give

The Sulfur Carrier what it wanted

Above all, why should it come after me?"

The early breeze beneath the ash boughs ceased

As King Roam whispered, “I know your real names.

But you do not know mine." Then he flung down

The reeking cigarette stub from his mouth.

It burst in orange sparks upon the stones

As he cried ere he could be stopped or stayed,

“I name thee the Last Stander, Pitiable!

I name thee Husband of the Carrion Fowl!

I name thee Lost, and Loser, and Hopeless!

I name thee twelfth arcana, the Hanged Man!

I name thee Martyr, name thee Sacrifice!

I name thee Roland, Sebastian, Hector!

I name thee Mandos, Gleaner of the Dead!

I name thee Gallows God and Glad of War!

I name thee Odin! And I summon thee

To thy place, which is Ragnarok and Doom!"

The Old Man had but time to look appalled,

And then he vanished like a soap bubble

Before the Withfolk King's triumphant laugh.

“Now, Shane," King Roam began, but no further

Did he get ere the Boxer's firm right fist

Connected with a mighty crack. King Roam

Fell back against the tree trunk, unconscious.

Shane turned to the Old Woman. “How do I

Get back, as quickly as I can?" he barked,

“I cannot be too soon, and must not be

Too late! Speak!" The Old Woman spared a scowl

Of disgust for King Roam's prone, crumpled form,

And said, “Seek out an entrance, underground.

A subway tunnel ought to work. When you

Came outward from the worlds of the dead

A green willow wand guided you. To go

From hence, I think you will need this."

She drew out of her sleeve a tiny sprig

Of bittersweet, the berries blood-crimson,

The petals brittle gold. “I plucked this as

We left your world. I had a foreknowing

It would be needed, though I knew not how.

By this bittersweet fruit of your lost war

Can you be guided back. Seek you a path

That takes you underground. The bittersweet

Will do the rest. And Champion," she paused,

“Be careful. By this time that world will be

By Sulfur Carrier surrounded, like

A slow constricting snake, or a man's fist

Around a ripe fruit, squeezing at the juice.

You will not win through unopposed." Shane took

The sprig between his teeth, and clenched it fast,

As does a stallion with the bit. “This is,"

The Old Woman said, voice soft suddenly,

“The third and final time, Shane Champion,

That we shall meet. And I dread what that means."

Shane grinned and growled around the bittersweet,

“It means we will not need to meet again!"

Then he was off and running, as he ran

Once in another world through waving grass

To catch up with his foe. She watched him reach

And plunge into a subway station's gate

Where she no more could see him. Soon the sun

Arose, and seemed to her to rise too late.