People of the Lake

by Nick Scorza

  “That won’t happen,” my father said through clenched teeth.

  Mr. Redmarch ignored my father.

  “I’m sorry to say I found only you there that night, Clara. I don’t know where your sister was.” He flashed me a wicked grin, and I shuddered. “I suspect she wasn’t your sister yet. In fact, I believe you tried to steal from me. I have no mercy for thieves, but I’m prepared to forgive all for the sake of the bloodline.”

  I had no idea what he meant. What could I have stolen from him, and what did it have to do with Zoe?

  The sun finally slipped below the hills on the other side of the lake, and Mr. Redmarch’s second shadow seemed to stretch as it set, growing taller and darker against the wall. Once dusk had fully descended, he rose from his seat, sweeping up the pistol in one graceful motion.

  “Now, if you’d be so kind as to follow me outside.”

  XVIII.

  “What the hell is happening?” I whispered to Keith as we walked.

  “I’m sorry, Clara. I’m so sorry. I wish I never met you, or Danny or anyone.”

  Keith moved like someone in a daze. His whole personality seemed to fade away in his father’s presence—the years of fear and abuse that implied made me shudder. My father was also numb with fear. This was something they had both dreaded for a long time, a nightmare coming true. It was that for me, as well, I just had no idea what would happen next.

  Mr. Redmarch threw open the front door, revealing a startled Hector, fist raised in mid-knock. In another time, it might have been funny, but nothing was funny now. Hector’s eyes went wide when he saw the pistol, now raised to point at his head.

  “Coming here was brave of you, if stupid,” Mr. Redmarch said.

  Hector’s eyes were focused on the gun, his muscles tense. Don’t move, I pleaded silently, don’t move or he’ll kill you.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to join us,” said Mr. Redmarch. “Outsiders shouldn’t taint a night like tonight, but I’ll make an exception in your case. You may yet serve a purpose.”

  We marched in a grim line through the darkening vineyard to the lake shore, where Mr. Redmarch ushered us into the rowboat at the little dock. I stepped gingerly into the boat, which shifted beneath my feet. I’d never been on a boat, besides one trip on the Staten Island Ferry, and for a second, I was afraid I’d tip the whole thing over. Hector stepped in beside me, his weight steadying the boat. Mr. Redmarch gestured to Keith and my father to each take an oar.

  “What the hell is happening?” Hector whispered to me.

  “Something really bad.”

  Slowly, Keith and my father began rowing us out to the island. The barrel of Mr. Redmarch’s pistol wandered back and forth from my father to Hector to me. He seemed totally relaxed, but his eyes tracked the slightest twitch of a muscle from any of us. He was like a viper, loose and ready to strike.

  I thought of twisting and capsizing the boat, or diving into the water. One glance at Hector showed me he was thinking the same thing. We could both see it was a bad idea.

  We drifted along the smooth, mirrored surface of the lake as purple evening shadows lengthened to night. This was the first time I’d been out on the lake, and thinking about it started to fill me with an anxious nausea, a twist in the stomach just like I felt looking at those Two Shadows artifacts. This place was wrong. I couldn’t tell if I was seeing things or not, but as it grew darker, Mr. Redmarch’s eyes seemed to glow, two burning points of light like embers in a dying fire.

  There was no dock on the island. The rowboat ran aground on muddy shallows before we reached the bank, and we had to wade a few feet through the cold, clammy lake water before we reached shore. The trees that grew here were twisted and half-dead, green leaves sprouting from their gnarled branches in small patches. Mr. Redmarch urged us onward, and we followed a faint path up from the shore to the mound of earth at the island’s center, crowned with its single broken column.

  As we got nearer, I saw there was another circle of columns around the mound, sunken into the earth and nearly overgrown with thorny vines. The mound itself was a ring of bare earth where nothing grew. The column at its center was covered in intricate symbols, worked into a whorled pattern like a carved ivory tusk. Imagining it as a giant tooth didn’t make me feel any more at ease. The carvings didn’t look Native American, or European, or like any other earthly culture—the only thing they resembled were the statues on display at the Clyburn, and the script carved on Danny’s flesh. I was glad I had no idea what they meant. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the column was somehow watching me, that the carvings were malevolent eyes looking greedily on this place from somewhere beyond.

  I hadn’t seen it from land, but in the shadow of the pillar, there was a low stone table, a bare, gray slab of slate. My first thought was that it was a massive old grave, but there were no markings on it. Mr. Redmarch led us to that exact spot. This whole place made me sick to my stomach, and it was getting worse by the minute.

  “As blood and bone nourish the soil, so too loss and pain nourish the spirit,” Mr. Redmarch’s voice was low and solemn. “Our lives are brief and worthless, but they nourish those on the other side, who strengthen us in return.”

  The moon shone out above us, low and huge, trailing a wisp of cloud lit up with silver light. Its reflection shone back just as bright on the surface of the lake, a single disc of bone white in a yawning gulf of black. That night, we could see the true face of the lake. What we saw every day was a mask—even what I’d seen from shore two nights ago barely did it justice. Glimpsed from that island, the lake was a howling, fathomless void. I couldn’t look at it long without feeling it would swallow me whole.

  “Our two peoples have dwelt side by side for over two hundred years. You have done your duty, nourished the land with suffering and blood. The people of the lake have obeyed their king, as have those on the other side. Now let the worthy bear witness.”

  Then Mr. Redmarch said something in a language I didn’t know. I couldn’t even guess the syllables, they were so strange. It was halfway between speech and a guttural snarl. From the forest on the edges of the lake came a chorus of ear-piercing howls. I could see pale ghostly lights in the depths of the lake—lights I knew weren’t reflections of the stars. I huddled close to Hector, and to my father.

  “Clara, sweetheart, we’ll get out of this, I promise,” my father whispered.

  “But there is discord and betrayal at every corner.” Mr. Redmarch looked first to my father, and then to me. “And those who should be loyal are full of plots and schemes. Tonight, it ends. Tonight, my heir takes his rightful place, and the first step toward his inheritance.”

  Mr. Redmarch gestured to Keith, who reluctantly came forward.

  “Dad? Why are you talking like that? Please, I don’t want to do this—”

  “Don’t pretend ignorance, you know more than you admit even to yourself about what I am, and what you are.”

  “I’m not like you.” He trembled as he said this.

  For a second, Mr. Redmarch looked at him with something resembling pity. He seemed diminished, a normal man, staring at the frightened boy that was his son.

  “I know . . . I am sorry, if you can believe it. We must all do things we don’t like. The blood demands it, and it is far older and stronger than you or I.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, Keith,” my father said. “Neither do you, Jonathan. Whatever . . . whatever is with you in there—you don’t have to listen to it.”

  Then the look of cold command was back in Mr. Redmarch’s eyes, and he seemed to loom over all of us like a giant. His shadow rose dark against the central column, though there was no light to cast it. He gave my father a disdainful look, as if he were an irritating fly.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. “It isn’t in me. It is me. The King is alive in our blood, passed from parent to child since the founding, that we may share our strength across the worlds. Soon it will pass to my son, as well. And
when it passes to my grandchildren, I will be able to enter this world more fully than ever before.”

  Then, suddenly, he shot my father in the stomach. It rang out like a clap of thunder, and I pressed my ears without thinking. Then Dad crumpled to his knees. I rushed to his side, pressing my sleeve to his wound. It came away soaked with blood. He pushed me away, clutching his stomach.

  “No . . . Clara, stay back.”

  “You needn’t worry, Tom, I won’t harm her unless you make me. I’m sorry I had to do that, as well, but I can’t have you getting in the way.”

  Mr. Redmarch beckoned for Keith to come forward again. Then he turned the gun on Hector and me, motioning each of us to join Keith at the altar. I glanced back at my father, worried sick. He had propped himself against one of the pillars, using his shirt to stop the bleeding. His eyes said be strong.

  “One of the founders’ blood stands before us—Clara Morris, whose forefathers lie in this soil. She will be joined to the heir, and add the strength of her blood to our own.”

  Mr. Redmarch regarded me with a piercing stare. The glow was back in his eyes—they caught the light like a wolf’s. I tried my hardest to meet his gaze, to stare back my defiance to whatever he had planned.

  “You’re a monster,” I said. “I won’t let what happened to you happen to Keith.”

  Mr. Redmarch only smiled.

  “I am a king,” he said. “And you’re a thief. Tell me, do you know where your sister comes from? You must have suspected. She belonged to me long before she met you. She and the others kept us fed through the long famine, and we will have her back.”

  I fell back, speechless. What did he know about Zoe? Just hearing him mention her made me feel sick.

  “You leave her out of this.”

  “Oh, she has already involved herself, but soon she will be back where she belongs.”

  He chuckled at my distress, then turned his gaze on Hector.

  “An outsider is among us, treading on our sacred ground, hearing our names and our secrets. His life is forfeit. His blood will nourish the land, and his last breath will be swallowed by the lake. His torment will be a feast for the hounds.”

  The bone-chilling howls rose again all around the lake, followed by wild yips and barks. Eerie, radiant motes of light like luminescent jellyfish shone out from the depths of the lake, bathing the island in a sinister glow.

  “My son, step forward.”

  Mr. Redmarch beckoned to Keith, who stayed rooted to the spot.

  “Step forward.”

  Mr. Redmarch did not yell, but his voice was full of a terrible force of will. Keith walked forward as if each word were a chain dragging him. Mr. Redmarch pulled a long, gleaming knife from his belt. It was old, and curved out and back into a cruel hook, almost like a sickle. He handed it to Keith, who held it in a trembling hand.

  “The Morris girl will be your bride. You must mark her as is our custom.”

  Keith walked toward me. The knife shook in his hand. Fear and exertion had bled his handsome face milk white. I could see the power his father’s voice held over him. He was fighting it with every ounce of strength.

  “Clara . . . I won’t do this!”

  He held up his hands.

  “You will, or I will end her father and the outsider now.”

  The steel edge of command was back in Mr. Redmarch’s voice, and something beneath it, a low animal growl. His form seemed to flicker and change when I wasn’t looking directly at him. Keith’s whole body shook. He raised the knife.

  “What the hell is happening?” I said.

  “I-I have to cut you, to shed your blood. Oh god, I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Redmarch watched his son approach me, knife in hand. He smiled.

  “When you have received your full inheritance, my son, you will no longer need the knife.”

  Keith looked paralyzed with fear. If he did nothing, his father would kill mine. I held my hand out.

  “Do it,” I said. “If it will keep the others alive a little longer . . . whatever it takes.”

  Keith brought the knife down. He barely grazed my palm, but the blade was razor sharp. I felt nothing at first, then a searing pain and warmth as I began to bleed. I clutched my hand to my chest, determined not to scream or cry. I could feel the wound throbbing, each pulse a new agony. Mr. Redmarch seemed to be weighing his son’s effort, to see if it was enough. Finally, he nodded.

  “You aren’t finished yet. Now you must taste her blood, as her bloodline will be added to our own.”

  Keith stiffened, a look of horror frozen on his face. I held my injured hand tighter.

  “You must do it, boy, or I will tear her father limb from limb.”

  Had Jonathan Redmarch had to do this, too, years ago? Hurt the girl he’d loved for years, and then keep hurting her, until the thing that stood before us now owned him completely? His eyes flickered with inhuman malice, and I had no doubt he really would tear my father, his childhood best friend, apart. Trembling, I stretched my hand out to Keith, blood running down my palm as I slowly opened my fingers. I gritted my teeth against the pain.

  “I’m-I’m sorry,” Keith mumbled.

  “Do it,” I said, “just do it.”

  He fumbled for my hand, and I shuddered as I felt his mouth on the wound. Then it was over, and I clutched my injured hand tight again.

  “Good boy. Tom, my son has saved your life. You should be grateful. Now, we spill the outsider’s blood. Bring him to the table.”

  Keith didn’t move. He just stood there, trembling.

  “Son, you will bring him to the table.”

  Keith remained still. Whatever power his father held over him, it had limits.

  “How disappointing.”

  Mr. Redmarch had had enough. He leaped over the altar, moving so quickly he was a dark blur. He shoved Keith out of the way, sending him sprawling to the ground. Hector tried to dive out or reach, but Mr. Redmarch was too fast. He punched him hard in the face, nearly knocking him to the floor, then seized him by the arm, dragging him savagely toward the altar. The wild chorus of howling rose up around the lake again, but now there was another sound cutting through it, a mechanical buzz that seemed to come from another, saner world. A motorboat.

  Hector managed a thin smile through bloody lips.

  “What is this?” Mr. Redmarch said.

  “You called the sheriff?” I said. “When?” I could barely allow myself to hope this was true.

  “They’ve been on speaker-phone since you left the house.”

  XIX.

  Mr. Redmarch snarled, a guttural, vicious sound. He twisted Hector’s arm until I heard a snap, then threw him to the ground, backing away. The motor was getting closer, and we could see the boat’s headlight standing out from the eerie radiance of the lake. Elaine Cross River was driving, Deputies Bill and Harry sat next to her, flashlights in hand.

  “Drop your weapon and put your hands up!” Elaine shouted through a bullhorn. They landed the boat in the muddy shallows, leaping out with their guns drawn and scrambling up toward the mound. I didn’t like that Harry was with them—I didn’t know whose side he was really on. I hoped more deputies were on their way, along with an ambulance for my father and Hector.

  Elaine looked completely shocked by what she saw, as if nothing like it could still exist in the twenty-first century, but Bill’s face was a mask of animal terror. Like my father, like Keith—on some level, the residents of Redmarch Lake knew what this was, and it filled them with dread. Even Harry looked pale and ready to bolt into the woods.

  Mr. Redmarch let his pistol fall to the ground like it was a common rock.

  “This is all a misunderstanding,” he said. “Surely we can work something out. Deputy Chief Cross River, you are an outsider, but they must have briefed you on my family and our ties to this community. I was a donor to your superior’s campaign.”

  “Keep your mouth shut and your hands up!” Elaine shouted.

  Mr. Redmarch slowly r
aised his hands in the air, as if he were only humoring her. He said something else in the language he’d used before—less like a word and more like an animal snarl. The eerie radiance of the lake suddenly faded away, and a thick fog rose from the water, engulfing the island in darkness. Mr. Redmarch stepped back from the mound and was gone, his guttural words dissolving into a mocking laugh.

  The fog was so thick, I could barely see my own hands. I stretched my arms out, calling out for Hector, for Keith or my father. I stumbled, encountering no one where I had been sure Hector had fallen.

  “Dad! Elaine!” I shouted out into the darkness. There was no response.

  “They cannot help you.”

  With a shock, I felt cold, gnarled fingers close around my neck from behind. They were hard and gray-black, like dead branches, and they ended in long, cruel claws. I knew who they belonged to, though I couldn’t imagine what he looked like now, with his human form cast aside. His strength was terrible, holding me up by my neck so that my feet could barely touch the ground as if I weighed next to nothing. I was shivering with fear, barely able to breathe with his grip on my throat.

  “You should be honored at what I’m giving you, but you have polluted the night with outsiders,” I felt his snarling voice at my ear. There was still something of Jonathan Redmarch’s baritone, mixed with that otherworldly growl. “Now you will have to witness all I do here, before you are joined to my son.”

  I tried to tell him no, I would never let it happen, but I could barely open my mouth to breathe.

  “The part of me that is still human thought he could spare your father by wounding him, but now I will flay the life from him slowly, as I will from your little outsider friend. You think you know who and what I am, but you have no idea. You would weep if I told you. I am older than stars and colder than the space between. I have tasted the sweetness of your world, and I will have all of it I crave, and you will not stop me. Now watch what comes next, and don’t count yourself fortunate that I spare you. You know the life of suffering that awaits you.”