Rivers of Fire (Atherton, Book 2)

by Patrick Carman

"What if, instead of studying the thing you wanted to learn, you simply started performing the actions? The problem with most people is that they want to study subjects, but they don't want to get anywhere near the discipline of truly learning."

  Horace thought this was a pretty interesting idea, though it was difficult for him to grasp.

  "Tell me what you do that makes you this way," said Horace. He hadn't told anyone, not even Wallace, but the pressure of leading the people of Atherton was grinding away at his spirit. He missed his family--had barely seen them in days--and he was beginning to feel that the job was bigger than he was. The thought of a Cleaner hiding in the grove also weighed heavily on his mind.

  "I take long walks all alone in the morning and in the evening," began Wallace. "I look at the world around me. I think of what I want for Atherton--harmony between our peoples, food and water, understanding, patience. I spend a lot of time standing alone in a field surrounded by animals that don't speak and are apt to wander off and get lost. The solitude sharpens my mind."

  Wallace stopped, but Horace wished he wouldn't. He found that if Wallace kept talking, it took his mind off troubles of his own. "What else do you do?"

  Wallace raised an eyebrow, surprised that Horace really cared about such things. He reasoned that the man must be struggling to keep up the fight, so he went on.

  "Sometimes I eat nothing for an entire day, which I admit

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  sounds strange. But you'd be surprised what it does to a person to go without food even for a single day. Unexpected hungers rear their ugly head when basic needs are voluntarily given up. The things that are deep inside come looking for provisions -- dark things that also want to be fed."

  "What dark things come out when you don't eat?" asked Horace.

  "Things like anger and deceit, fear and jealousy," said Wallace. "Although, with the Highlands beneath me now, I'm quite a lot less jealous than I used to be. I didn't see that coming."

  Horace laughed quietly at Wallace's words and felt genuine surprise that this passive man before him was capable of feeling jealousy and anger.

  "So you're telling me if I take walks all alone, tend sheep all day, and starve myself, I'll turn into a peaceful person?"

  Wallace shrugged his shoulders. "My thoughts are often much darker than you might imagine when I'm starved for something to eat and standing alone on a hill for hours on end."

  He looked thoughtfully at Horace, and then he spoke the last of what he would teach the man that night.

  "You must know your enemies to overcome them. That is the path of peace for every person, and it comes only by doing, not by study of those who are already doing."

  There was a rustling on the path behind them and they were both up in a flash, their backs to each other in the dim light of the grove. Everything was silent once more, and the two men turned and crept slowly toward the sound they'd heard, spears at the ready All but a very few people had been ordered

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  to huddle together behind ever-widening circular perimeters of men with weapons. At the heart of the inner circle were the children and mothers, the animals and the stores of water.

  "This way," whispered Horace in his quietest voice. He was aware that Gill was scouting the perimeter of the grove on horseback, and the two parties might have unintentionally come close to one another in the dark. E

  Horace and Wallace crept closer to where the noise had come from, ducking under branches as they went. When the two had gone about ten paces down a hard dirt path between the trees they heard the sound again, only this time they saw what it was. A rabbit darted out from behind a tree and across the path, disappearing on the other side.

  The two men breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at each other, then back at the path where the rabbit had crossed. A second rabbit hopped out into the same path, but this one was limping badly and moved slower than the other. It stopped and stood on its two back legs, looking curiously at Horace and Wallace.

  "Looks like that one is having a bad night," said Horace. He leaned down and put a hand out toward the rabbit, and when he did, the Cleaner that lay hidden in the shadows leaped out with stunning force and speed. Its jaws slammed down over the injured rabbit, devouring it all at once.

  Wallace remained perfectly still, several feet back from the monster, but Horace was unable to contain his voice in the shock of the moment and let out an almost inaudible bark that carried over Wallace's head and reached the tiny ears of the Cleaner. It

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  turned ferociously, still grinding its teeth on the rabbit, and both men saw the hunger and wrath in its eyes as it reared up on its many legs, crashing through the limbs of the trees overhead.

  The suction cups on the Cleaner's belly glowed and dripped slime in the grey night of Atherton. Its head came crashing down through the trees on top of Wallace. But Wallace was a smart man, good under pressure and aware of the importance of what he must do. He knelt down, as if in sacrifice, the bottom of his spear firm on the ground and its top well above his head. The Cleaner came down, mouth open and howling, and with incredible force it pounced on the spear and the man underneath it.

  This was not an ordinary Cleaner, but the biggest of them all. Its mouth closed around the spear and it reared into the air, then it slammed back down toward the ground and crushed Wallace where he kneeled.

  Horace stabbed at the creature's head as it flailed wildly in every direction, uprooting trees and batting Wallace on the ground as it swung its awful head. Finally, the beast lay on its side, wheezing and chomping at the spear caught in its brain, and then it laid silent and dead. Air and liquid escaped from all twelve feet of it in the wreckage of the grove.

  Horace poked at its head to be sure there was no last gasp of life left in it. Then he searched the ground for Wallace and found that he had been batted off the path and lay motionless ten feet away.

  He knelt beside Wallace, hearing the sound of approaching hooves through the trees. "Wallace?" he said, still whispering for no reason at all.

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  Without warning Gill galloped up on his horse and dismounted, standing next to his commander and surveying the scene of destruction. Four trees had been uprooted by the swinging head of the massive Cleaner. Roots were exposed everywhere, and the hulking body of the dead Cleaner covered the ground at the center of it all. Looking back at Horace, he saw that Wallace was not moving.

  "You killed it," said Gill. "I didn't think that was possible. It was so big."

  He walked closer still and gazed down at the two men, and Wallace opened his eyes.

  "You're alive!" cried Horace, cradling Wallace's head. "You did it! You killed the beast."

  Wallace's eyes were barely open. His neck was broken and his head had been dashed against a tree. There was almost no life left in him.

  "You must follow your own path," said Wallace, struggling to breathe and force out the words. "You know the way."

  "We'll follow it together," said Horace. He was crying, for he knew his friend was about to die.

  Wallace smiled and gazed up into the limbs of the trees.

  "Don't let Maude push you around," he said, and this made Horace smile.

  Wallace's eyes slowly shut, and as they did he turned his gaze on Horace, mumbling his last. "You must lead the way."

  And then the old shepherd was gone and the grove was bathed, if only for a moment, in the peaceful way of its past.

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  *** CHAPTER 24 THE KEEPER OF ATHERTON

  "Edgar!" cried Dr. Harding. "Wake up! We've slept too long!"

  Edgar leaped to his feet as he'd often done in the grove when Mr. Ratikan woke him unexpectedly with a whack from his walking stick. He had the distinct feeling that all was not right, that a new danger had arrived in the night. Edgar darted to the window and saw that there was only a trace of light coming from above. The floor of the Highlands was covered mostly in shadow, but the dim light revealed a quality to the land before him that Edgar
didn't understand.

  "The ground is moving," said Edgar, glancing back at Dr. Harding, who was struggling to stand up.

  "Bring me to the window, won't you?"

  Edgar returned to Dr. Harding's side and helped him up as

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  best he could. The two hobbled over to the window, where Dr. Harding leaned heavily on the stone sill draped in ivy. He looked down, breathing heavily and knowing his fate.

  "We come to the second day, and the darkest hour of my o existence."

  "Stop talking like that!" said Edgar. He was tired of feeling the chill of insanity all around him.

  Dr. Harding continued to speak in the bizarre, prophetic voice of a creator. "But it's true, Edgar. It's true because you will leave and I can't go with you. I didn't plan for this parting on the second day, but it comes to pass all the same." He was dying, there were no two ways about it, and Edgar knew it would be impossible to get him out of the Highlands.

  "Why does the ground move?" asked Edgar.

  Dr. Harding looked at the boy and then out the window, his breathing growing more steady.

  "Water," he said.

  Edgar looked down again and then he understood. The whole floor of the Highlands was covered in gently sloshing waves. The courtyard was gone, hidden beneath the water. There were no jagged shadows from trees or walls or anything else, only a dark glass surface that washed ominously across the world.

  Dr. Harding slumped down along the edge of the sill and sobbed into the ivy. Edgar didn't know what to say and simply put his hand on Dr. Harding's shoulder. Dr. Harding put his hand on Edgar's and looked into his eyes.

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  "You have to leave this place before the water rises and covers the House of Power. When the tallest tower is no longer visible, Atherton will grow fiercer for a time."

  "But I can't swim," said Edgar. "I don't know how." He was aware of the fact that while he could climb his way out of many dangerous circumstances, water was something he had very little experience with.

  He leaned out the window once more. The light of morning was creeping in with the passing of time. The water, it seemed, was rising calmly but fast. Now there were waves but no white-caps, a rolling sea that looked to Edgar as though it would swallow him up and never let him go.

  "The water is rising quickly," said Edgar, coming back down to crouch next to Dr. Harding. "What should we do?"

  With some effort, Dr. Harding pointed toward Mead's Head. "Go stand over there and do as I say."

  Edgar did as he was told, and Dr. Harding instructed him to grasp the head and turn it one way and then another. It was different from the way it had been turned to open Mead's Hollow, snapping as it turned twice to the left and three times to the right.

  "Now, push the head onto the floor," said Dr. Harding.

  Edgar hesitated, feeling a certain unease about knocking the head off the pedestal.

  "Push it off!" shouted Dr. Harding, and Edgar obeyed. Mead's Head tumbled heavily through the air, crashing at Edgar's feet and cracking into two halves. Out of the two halves there fell a silver key.

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  "Take the key," said Dr. Harding. He coughed and wheezed, lifting his arm once more and pointing to the other side of the g room where there sat a wardrobe. The wardrobe had walls of f" stone and a grave-looking wooden door that appeared as if it o hadn't been opened for a very long time. Now Edgar went to it, inserted the silver key into the lock, and opened the door.

  There were only two things inside, neither of which Edgar had seen the likes of before. Or had he? His mind raced back to his second visit to the Highlands and the memory of a young boy pushing a toy between his hands as it had floated back and forth on the water. One of the things inside the wardrobe looked very much like a larger version of the toy Edgar had seen.

  "It's a boat," said Dr. Harding. "You'd know that, if Dr. Kincaid hadn't taken you away. You can get inside--it's small, but it will hold you--and that long stick is a paddle. You can push yourself through the water with it."

  The wooden boat sat on its belly, ready to be boarded. It was indeed very small, unable to hold more than one person. Edgar glanced back and forth between the contents of the wardrobe and Dr. Harding.

  "If you wait until the water comes through the window, you can make your escape in the boat. But you'll need to be swift about it."

  Edgar placed the paddle in the boat and took the vessel by its pointed front end, dragging it out of the wardrobe until it sat in the middle of the room. It was dusty and dry, but very soon it would feel the power of water.

  "We could both fit inside," said Edgar, excited for a moment,

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  but then realizing it would never work. Edgar kept his gaze on Dr. Harding and knew the truth. "You made this for me, didn't you? You knew it would come to this."

  Dr. Harding smiled weakly. "If only we'd woken at dusk, you could have walked out in water up to your knees. Now you can only hope to paddle to the edge of the Highlands and climb out, for the waves will soon become violent."

  "How violent?" Edgar was suddenly scared of riding on the water, and he darted to the window, hoping to find a calm sea. The water was nearly at the window, only a few feet below. It was coming for him.

  "Get in the boat, Edgar," said Dr. Harding. With great effort he stood, gripping vines of ivy in one hand to stay up. "And don't be afraid. Just row to the cliffs as fast as you can and get out. When you reach the cliffs, climb like you've never climbed before!"

  Water spilled into the room, sloshing over the edge of the sill on a silent wave. Edgar ran to the boat and got inside, shaking with fear, and the water began to fill the room. It covered Dr. Harding's feet and then rose up the lower part of his legs. As water poured through the window, Edgar could detect the boat begin to move under him. He unexpectedly felt a deep desire to embrace Dr. Harding, and he jumped from the boat and careered toward him.

  "Edgar, no!" cried Dr. Harding. "Get back in the boat!"

  But Edgar didn't listen. He splashed through the water that came to his waist until he was right next to Dr. Harding, and then he threw his arms around the man. Dr. Harding took his

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  hand from the ivy, and gathering all of his remaining strength, he picked Edgar up as one would carry a child from a raging fire or a coming flood. The two locked eyes, and Edgar's fear was gone as Dr. Harding carried him back to the boat and set him gently inside.

  "I have always loved you, Edgar," said Dr. Harding. "Take care of this place I've made for you."

  Edgar nodded, feeling an odd sense of Tightness at the command of his maker. He was transformed in that moment from an orphan of the grove into the keeper of Atherton, and he swelled with pride at the idea of protecting it, nurturing it, and making it whole once again.

  The water was at Dr. Harding's chest as he pushed the boat in front of him toward the window. Edgar took the oar in his hands and saw that it would be close. If the water rose much higher it would fill the window entirely and then he could not get out. He would be trapped in the House of Power, pinned against the ceiling by the oncoming water. As the boat came near the opening, Edgar ducked down low and felt a great push from behind as Dr. Harding gave away the very last energy he had and sent Edgar out into the open water of the Highlands.

  Edgar looked back. Dr. Harding held on to the ivy, looking dreamily out toward all that he had made. The water was at his chest now, but he seemed utterly at peace with the coming of the end. No more words were spoken between the two. Edgar could not watch the water overtake Dr. Harding. He turned instead to the sea and began to paddle away.

  "Goodbye, Edgar," whispered Dr. Harding. He smiled and

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  his mind was as clear as it had been before Dr. Kincaid had found him, when he himself was only a boy. The fresh wonder of childhood washed over him. There were no more rooms in his mind, no more numbers, no Atherton. There was only the boy on the horizon, drifting out to sea as the water rose past the wind
ow and over the House of Power.

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  PART THREE INVERSION

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  There is a tide in the affairs of men,

  Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

  Omitted, all the voyage of their life

  Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

  Julius Caesar William Shakespeare

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  *** CHAPTER 25 A STORM IN THE HIGHLANDS

  Edgar found himself tossed on the waves of a swiftly rising sea that was growing more aggressive as he made his way toward the cliffs. How am I to get out of this boat without being dashed into the rocks? Edgar thought. He felt quite sure that he was paddling directly into a catastrophe that would take his life.

  But he kept paddling, remembering the words Dr. Harding had said the night before. You must be free of the Highlands before the water reaches halfway to the top, or the power of the sea will destroy you. When you reach the cliffs, climb like you've never climbed before! The water was well below halfway up the side of the cliffs, and already the waves were capped with white, slamming into the rocks and bouncing back toward Edgar on the small boat. It was as if some giant creature were shaking Atherton in its hands.

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  It was hard work keeping the boat moving out toward the edge. Uprooted trees and debris floated all around Edgar and threatened to careen into the side of the wooden boat. He was rowing with his back to the cliffs, his wounded shoulder burning with every stroke, and he could see that everything that was not connected to the cliffs or the floor of the Highlands was being sucked into the middle, a great jumble of wreckage crashing on the waves. If he were pulled back in it would be the end, and so he rowed feverishly, his wiry arms and legs fueled by a rush of energy to get free of the Highlands. He had to get free!