This River Awakens

by Steven Erikson

  ‘Mother?’

  The head turned, and their eyes met.

  Jennifer tried to smile, failed. She walked quickly forward, came to the side of the bed. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Hi,’ she managed.

  Her mother’s eyes clung to hers, and tears had appeared in them as well. The woman reached up her free hand and Jennifer grasped it.

  Jennifer sat down on the bed and they sat in silence for some time. It finally came to Jennifer that her mother couldn’t talk. ‘You okay?’ With difficulty her mother nodded. Looking away, Jennifer tried to think of something to say. ‘I’ll bring you some of your stuff next time.’ It suddenly struck her that there would be a next time. She met her mother’s gaze again, was silent for a moment, then said, ‘The doctor came by. Roulston. He – he talked with Father.’ Mother’s eyes had widened, filling with fear, and then with hope. Jennifer understood. She shook her head. ‘No, it didn’t help.’

  III

  The black field simmered, the black field boiled. Fisk watched in horror. It was coming alive. Its surface, once smooth and impenetrable, was now rolling, chopping, broken with writhing ribbons that lifted faces, blunt, pink and blind, skyward. The worm-heads jerked, flopped, they opened black maws and screamed soundlessly.

  Mink guts, a sea of mink guts. His hands gripping the arms of the chair, Fisk stared, unable to move. They weren’t going to wait any longer. They were coming for him and they were coming now.

  ‘Down!’ His roar made his whole body jerk. Wood cracked. ‘Get down!’ Wood splintered. The rocking chair slewed sideways beneath him. Snarling, he pulled on the arms, gained his feet. The chair collapsed, and he tottered, his hands balled into fists, glaring out at the black nightmare beyond the porch.

  A gust of wind brought to him the stench from the freshly piled mound of intestines beside the maypole – not rot, not yet, but the smell of faeces, stomach acids, fluids and blood. Fisk’s head snapped around, fixed on the pale pink and yellow pile.

  ‘My barrow,’ he breathed, then giggled. His eyes narrowed. He wiped his mouth with one forearm. He knew that the field was still boiling with life even though he did not look at it. Horror was giving way to cunning. ‘They want to bury me. They want vengeance – those dead mink, all those dead mink.’ He giggled again, then turned to face the field. Worm-heads swung around and stretched towards him. Fisk grinned. ‘You think you got me, don’t you. You think the time’s come.’ Slowly, he shook his head, then hissed, ‘You’re wrong!’

  Fisk stepped over the ruin of the rocking chair and flung open the screen door. The shadows inside seemed to swirl. He plunged into them, then stopped. It took a long time for his eyes to adjust, and even then everything seemed smudged. But he couldn’t wait any longer. Pushing forward, he raised both hands in front of him and entered the living room. It’s the middle of the day, but look at the darkness breathe. He sat down on the edge of the worn sofa, took the telephone from the table beside him and began leafing through the attached notepad.

  After a moment he found the number he wanted. He dialled shakily, listened to the click and then the first ring. ‘Come on,’ he breathed. The second ring. The field was a cauldron, ready to explode, ready to engulf him. Third ring. Ready to swallow him whole. He could almost feel that vertiginous plummet. Fourth ring. Down through the blackness, clawing at the stomach walls, choking on the acid filling his mouth. Down, down, down. For ever. Fifth ring.

  ‘Hello?’

  Fisk’s breath caught. ‘Sten? Sten Louper?’

  ‘Yes,’ the voice croaked.

  ‘It’s Hodgson Fisk calling. You still in the hunt for dog food?’

  There was a pause, then, ‘Yes. Yes I am. You’ve got some?’

  Fisk scowled. The bastard was drunk. ‘As much as you need. Bring a shovel and some garbage bags.’

  ‘A – a shovel? But I thought—’

  ‘Do you want it or not?’ Fisk snapped.

  ‘Uh, yeah. Okay. I’ll come by th’saft.’

  Fisk’s scowl deepened. ‘Don’t wait too long. It’s out under the sun right now.’ He paused, listened to the ragged breathing on the line, then said, ‘Wouldn’t want your dogs to get sick, would you, now?’

  ‘No,’ Sten mumbled.

  ‘See you soon, then.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Fisk hung up, returned the telephone to the table, then leaned back on the sofa and sighed. ‘Can’t bury me when it’s not there,’ he whispered. ‘And I’ll hold you off till then. I will.’ He took a deep breath, wiped his mouth, then closed his eyes. It was just a matter of holding out, of waiting and staying alive until then. That’s all.

  IV

  I killed the engine and walked the lawn mower down the driveway and into the garage. The chores were done.

  The machine in the driveway seemed to be decomposing all on its own: every time I looked it was smaller, as if, now that its soul had been exposed, it was crumbling under the sun. Father had removed most of the larger parts and had carried them into the garage, where each part was placed in its own bucket of gasoline, like organs in jars. A pool of black oil had spread out from the machine – a tar pit collecting plant stuff, insects – I grinned at the thought – woolly rhinoceroses, mastodons …

  The pool’s placid surface showed nothing – it might be miles deep – there was just no way to tell. Somewhere under that surface might hide the history of mankind, of the whole world. And, somewhere down in the thick, congealing blackness, there might lie giants, suspended for all time.

  But when I picked up a stone and dropped it into the pool it was, of course, less than half an inch deep. And the machine was not the body of some god, exposed and bleeding out Creation like an afterthought. It had no soul, only parts, and none of those parts worked. And it was not as massive and imposing as it had once been. Still, since I as yet had no idea of what its function might be, there was an air of mystery around it; a secret with all the clues laid out, yet still a secret.

  I left the garage and walked to the front porch. The door opened and Father stepped out, dressed as usual in his blue coveralls. Placing his hands on his hips, he glared at the machine, then sighed.

  ‘Think you’ll get it to work?’ I asked.

  He didn’t seem to hear me.

  I studied him. He was a tall man, thin but with wide shoulders and thick arms. In my mind I compared him with the giant, then frowned. No, he wasn’t big enough for the giant – I could find no echoes between them.

  ‘Got something to say, buster?’

  I blinked, realised that he had noticed me studying him. I felt my face flush, shook my head.

  His stern expression softened, and he winked. ‘Mom says lunch is ready. Don’t forget to wash your hands.’

  ‘Great,’ I said as I ran up the steps and past him. ‘I’m starving!’

  Everyone else had already assembled at the dining-room table. The twins were silent, and the only greeting I received from Debbie was a brief glower. Mother came in from the kitchen with a tray of salmon salad sandwiches.

  ‘Again?’ I complained.

  ‘It was tuna last time, idiot,’ Debbie snapped.

  ‘Tuna, salmon, there’s no difference but food colouring,’ I pronounced, grabbing one from the tray once it was on the table.

  ‘What a jerk,’ Debbie said, shaking her head.

  I eyed her. ‘Shouldn’t you be studying or something? Hell, you’re fat enough—’

  ‘Owen!’ Mother admonished. ‘Don’t ever say that word again, and don’t call your sister fat. She isn’t. Now, apologise to her this instant.’

  ‘Okay,’ I replied around a mouthful of sandwich, ‘I’m sorry you’re not fat. Still, I heard you were doing lousy in class, so I was just trying to be helpful.’

  Mother remained standing over me. ‘Where did you hear that?’ she demanded.

  ‘The walls have ears,’ I answered nonchalantly. Then, grinning at Debbie, I said, ‘I heard you were gonna flunk.’

  ‘I am not!’ Debb
ie retorted, her face reddening. For a second I thought that she was going to throw her sandwich at me, but then Mother spoke.

  ‘Stop it, Owen, or you’ll spend the rest of the day in your room. And you won’t be sitting down, either.’

  You won’t be sitting down, either – that was code for a spanking. I quickly subsided, studying the bites I had taken out of my sandwich and trimming the edges with nibbles here and there until Mother returned to the kitchen. Once she was gone I looked up, waited until I caught Debbie’s eye, then gave her a silent sneer.

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘God, you’re mean, Owen,’ she said quietly.

  My sneer vanished. Memories of baiting Carl came back to me. Am I? Am I mean? The thought shocked me, then I smiled inwardly. Yeah, mean. A mean bastard, that’s me. People will go around and say: yeah, that guy’s mean, all right. One mean bastard.

  It’s easy to be mean, I told myself, when you’ve got secrets, when you know things nobody else knows, when you’ve seen a dead giant. I met Debbie’s gaze. ‘Mean? I’m not mean.’ I paused, smiled. ‘Just honest.’

  Debbie paled. In a low, threatening voice, she said, ‘I’m not going to flunk. My grades won’t be so good. That’s true. But I’m not stupid. And I won’t fail. Now, that’s honesty, Owen. Sound strange to you?’

  I considered her answer carefully, then replied, ‘Coming from you it does.’ Reaching out, I gathered in another sandwich, took a bite.

  ‘What’s happened to you, Owen?’ Debbie asked quietly, a frown on her face. ‘We used to be such good friends…’

  ‘It’s not me,’ I retorted. ‘It’s you! All those stupid phone calls, and that idiot David – it’s always David did this and David did that – I’m sick of it!’

  With a shocked expression, Debbie sat back in her chair, stared at me while I struggled to regain my breath. My outburst had taken me by surprise as much as it had her. The silence between us lengthened. The twins had not yet spoken a single word, and they now sat with open mouths, their heads turning from one of us to the other. From the kitchen came the clank of dishes in the sink, and I knew that Mother hadn’t heard.

  Debbie continued staring at me, then she let out her breath between pursed lips, her frown fading on her brow. ‘I get it, now,’ she said. ‘It’s okay, Owen.’ I gaped at her.

  Leaning forward, Debbie said, ‘Let’s talk tonight, okay? We’ll listen to some records – you haven’t heard my latest ones, have you?’

  I shook my head as a flood of emotion filled me. For a moment I feared I was going to start crying, but somehow I held it back. I took another bite from my sandwich, shrugged. ‘Sure,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Owen?’ William piped up.

  I glanced down at him. ‘What?’

  He and Tanya exchanged looks, then William turned back to me. ‘You’re eating my sandwich, Owen. What am I gonna eat?’

  * * *

  When I stepped out on to the porch, I saw Father’s bum and legs – the rest of him was inside the machine. The missing half – the words burst into my head like a comet. But no, it was just Father working on the machine. Shaking my head, I descended the steps, walked past him and down the driveway. I looked up.

  They were waiting for me, three figures at the edge of the road, Roland in the middle, Lynk to his right and Carl to his left. I felt a surge of excitement. They were just standing there, silent and unmoving. Looking mean, I hissed to myself. There, beneath the shadow of a giant oak, their forms were a dim, swimming grey – grim, deadly.

  I could feel my walk becoming a swagger as I approached them. Mean, vicious, like wolves, or killers. Giants, waiting to grow. When I came close enough to see their faces those thoughts vanished. Look at you! I wanted to scream. You’re all terrified! You’re all sucks!

  My swagger died. Their fear was too palpable; I could feel its echoes rising within me. I met Roland’s eyes, and he looked away.

  ‘Hi,’ I said uncertainly.

  ‘We gotta make plans,’ Lynk said, stepping forward. His face looked somehow dried out, old. I stared at him.

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Where should we go?’

  ‘The boat’s out,’ Lynk answered. ‘There’s fuckers crawling all over that place.’

  ‘Launching,’ Roland said.

  Nodding, I turned and glanced up the road. ‘Who’re they?’

  Everyone turned, and Lynk sneered, ‘Barb and Sandy. They’re in our class.’

  The girls were walking towards us, not speaking. In moments they had reached us. ‘Hi, Roland,’ the one with black bangs said, offering a slight smile.

  Roland looked down at the ground. ‘Hi, Sandy,’ he mumbled.

  Lynk picked up a rock. He sent it flying down the road with a grunt.

  ‘Any of you seen Jennifer?’ the brown-haired girl asked – must be Barb, I thought – her eyes brushing mine briefly before turning to Roland.

  Roland, Lynk and Carl shook their heads. I frowned. ‘Saw her yesterday,’ I said. As one my friends turned to me, and I shook my head and said, ‘After.’

  Sandy and Barb exchanged glances.

  ‘You talk to her?’ Lynk asked tightly.

  ‘No – yes, sort of.’ I shrugged.

  Seconds passed, and no one spoke. I felt the suspicious gazes of my friends on me, thought desperately for a way to alleviate their fears.

  Sandy spoke: ‘You guys are weird. Well, seeya later.’

  They began walking away.

  ‘She was in the playground,’ I explained quietly. ‘I was wandering around. She just said, “Hi.” We hardly talked at all.’ At least, I added to myself, I don’t think we did. But there was one thing I was certain of – ‘I didn’t say anything about the, uh, what we found.’

  After a moment, Roland nodded. ‘Let’s head down to the river,’ he said. ‘Behind Old Man Fisk’s place.’

  I let out my breath, nodded. ‘But let’s make sure that they’ – I jerked my head in the girls’ direction – ‘don’t see where we go.’

  ‘Fuckin’ right,’ Lynk responded.

  Walking slowly, we kept our distance from the girls ahead of us, and at the bend where the road turned right we continued straight on the gravel track that led to the windbreak, and the east edge of Fisk’s field. The girls had kept to the asphalt road, heading for the highway. We skirted the south end of the playground and moments later lost sight of them as we entered the windbreak.

  Once inside the windrow we turned left and followed its length down to the thicker woods edging the river. Leaves were starting to sprout on the branches above and around us, and we did not see the river until we were almost upon it. The water level had dropped dramatically in the last week; the banks were steep and caked with mud.

  ‘Shit,’ I said as I stood looking down on the waterline six feet below me, ‘we can’t even reach the water any more.’

  Roland grunted. ‘Back to normal,’ he said, shrugging.

  I found a dry patch of earth and sat down. In moments everyone had followed suit. I grinned wryly. ‘Anybody sleep good last night?’

  Lynk had been staring out over the river. At my words his head snapped around and he glared at me. ‘Sure. Why the hell not?’

  Sighing, I shook my head, turned my attention to Roland, who was sitting cross-legged and carefully stripping the bark from a twig. ‘So, what do we do now?’ I asked.

  Roland met my gaze, was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I didn’t.’

  I frowned. ‘You didn’t what?’

  He studied the bare twig in his hands. ‘Sleep good.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Carl mumbled.

  I ignored him, remained gazing at Roland. ‘I kept seeing his face,’ I said softly.

  He nodded. ‘The one he didn’t have.’

  I blinked. ‘Yeah, his faceless face.’

  Sticking the twig into the earth, Roland shook his head. ‘No, I kept seeing his face.’ He glanced up at me again. ‘The one he would’ve had. When, when he was alive.’

  I looked aw
ay quickly, frightened by what I had seen in Roland’s eyes. My mouth suddenly dry, I croaked, ‘How?’

  Roland found another twig, began peeling bark. ‘Don’t know,’ he mumbled, his wide forehead creasing in a frown. ‘Kinda looked familiar, his face.’ He placed the second twig beside the first one, began working on a third.

  ‘Familiar?’ I breathed.

  He shrugged.

  ‘No fuckin’ way!’ Lynk snapped suddenly, his voice sounding thin and brittle. We turned to stare at him, but he averted his gaze. ‘No way,’ he repeated. ‘Nobody could fuckin’ figure out his face.’ His fingers clawed gouges out of the mud before him, and his face worked strangely for a moment. ‘It was gone.’ He glared up at Roland. ‘His face was gone, you couldn’t tell fuckin’ nothin’ from it!’

  ‘I could in my dream,’ Roland retorted, his voice rising slightly.

  ‘Just a fuckin’ dream, man.’ Abruptly, Lynk jumped to his feet, faced the river. Over his shoulder he said, ‘He came from the city. Somebody fuckin’ murdered him and threw him in the river. He must’ve been frozen in the ice all winter, came down with the thaw.’ He turned to us, sneering. ‘Just some fuckin’ loser, some guy nobody’s ever seen before, and he’s got all of you shitting bricks.’ He tossed his head back and barked a laugh. ‘Now you got him feeling important – fuck, some shitface who’s so stupid he ends up rotting in a beaver lodge. But now he’s important for the first time in his life – only he’s dead!’ With another laugh Lynk turned back to the river. In a lower tone he added, ‘You guys make me want to puke.’

  Roland had continued peeling the bark from twigs and planting them in the earth around him all through Lynk’s bizarre outburst, but now he looked up, met my bewildered gaze and said, ‘Not sure. Might’ve been me.’

  I frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘The face. Me, but older. I think.’

  ‘He might’ve been somebody important,’ Carl said. ‘How’d we know?’

  I glanced at him. Carl had also found a twig, and was studiously picking the mud from the treads of his laceless sneakers. He seemed determined not to look up, even as he continued speaking: ‘And how’d we know he was murdered? Maybe he just drowned—’