Four Summoner’s Tales

by Kelley Armstrong, Christopher Golden, David Liss

  Addie shook her head. “It’s not like that. He’s going to do a demonstration. Free of charge.”

  “What? That’s not poss—” Preacher began.

  “It’s a hoax, Addie,” Sophia said, laying her hand on the girl’s arm. “Swindlers have many of them. They’ll conjure up some trick and—”

  “And what if it’s real?” Addie said, crossing her arms. “You don’t know that it isn’t. You don’t.”

  “Yes, we do, sweetheart. They cannot—”

  “You’re wrong,” Addie said. “They’re going to do the demonstration. They’ll bring Charlie back. And I’ll be there to see it.”

  She turned and raced out the door as Sophia and Preacher stared at one another.

  “Charlie?” Sophia said finally. “Oh, Benjamin. Of all the children . . .”

  “I know,” he said. “She does not need that. I’ll go and be there for her when she’s disappointed.”

  “Not disappointed,” Sophia said. “Heartbroken. I’ll go with you, too. I’m well enough, and I ought to be there for her.”

  He nodded and gathered her bonnet and coat.

  BROWNING

  Someone must die.

  You knew there was a trick, Browning told himself. There had to be.

  No, it wasn’t a trick. It was a hitch. He ought to have known it couldn’t be as easy as paying cash on the barrel. A life given for a life returned. That was how it worked, and he ought to have been relieved, now that it made sense.

  Relieved? Someone has to die for Charlie to live.

  His wife would do it. That was the first thing he thought, even as the idea horrified him. Dorothy would gladly give her life for her son’s. Yet that didn’t help at all. What would the boy do without his mama? What would Browning do without his wife? Their family would be torn asunder as much as it was now.

  I could get another wife. I can’t get another son.

  Again, his mind recoiled, but again, it didn’t quite drop the idea. Dorothy was a good housekeeper and a fine cook. He would not wish to lose her. But if he had to choose . . . and if the decision was hers, made on her own, without his prodding . . .

  “You cannot expect us to do that,” Doc Adams was saying. “While there are those who would give their lives for the children, we would again need proof before such a decision could be made. No one will sacrifice himself on such a chance.”

  Browning turned sharply on his heel, to motion for the doctor to be silent, not to give offense, but again Eleazar seemed to take none, only nodding in understanding.

  “The good doctor is right,” Eleazar said. “Normally, there would be someone near death willing to offer his or her life—eager, even, to leave this world of pain and pass into the kingdom of heaven. But you have lost all your elderly and infirm in the same tragedy that claimed the lives of the young. There is but one elder remaining.”

  “No,” Doc Adams said. “I fear there is not.”

  “Oh, but there is.” Eleazar motioned to his assistant. “Rene has offered himself for this demonstration.”

  “What?” Dobbs said, stepping forward.

  Browning made a move to shush him as his heart filled with hope again.

  “It’s all right,” Rene said in his creaking old voice. “A man as young as your blacksmith cannot understand what it is to wish his life done. I pray that he may never know the horrors of age. My body has failed me, and yet it stubbornly clings to life. I cannot end it myself or I would be damned. So I offer it to this village, to the mayor’s young son. I will die so he may live.”

  * * *

  That was the end of the discussion. It had been decided, apparently, even before the men arrived in Chestnut Hill. The old man would die so the younger one could prove his skill. With Charlie. Browning’s son would live again, and there would be no price to pay. None at all. Of course, he would not tell the others that. He’d pretend that he’d paid his three hundred to help cover the cost of others. As for the other price . . .

  How will I tell them? Where will we find volunteers?

  Did it matter? Charlie was coming back. The others could deal with that choice themselves when the time came.

  Eleazar killed his assistant in the back room.

  There was no hesitation, no preparation. He didn’t even say what he was doing, only asked Dobbs and Browning to take Charlie’s coffin out the front, where the villagers could see. They were not to say what was to come—it must be a surprise. As they’d told him, they didn’t want to raise hopes unnecessarily. Take the coffin out and make some excuse, and he’d be there in a moment. Doc Adams ought to speak to anyone still outside. With that, Eleazar and the old man disappeared into the back.

  Browning was still carrying Charlie’s coffin to the door when Eleazar appeared.

  “Rene has passed,” he announced.

  “What?” Dobbs nearly dropped his end of the coffin.

  “It was swift and merciful. Doctor, could you please confirm it is done? He’s resting in the back.”

  Doc Adams did as he was asked, while Browning and Dobbs carried the coffin outside.

  Most people had gone home now, content to wait and hear what the mysterious men wanted. Some had lingered, though, and when they brought out the coffin, a gasp went up.

  “All is fine,” Doc Adams assured them as he came out. “All is fine. The men have asked us to bring one of our dearly departed into the sunlight, so they might better see his condition.”

  Whispers snaked through the smattering of people. The men were doctors then, or scientists. A few left in disappointment.

  As Browning stepped away from his son’s closed casket, he caught sight of a man striding along the road, a slender woman beside him, her blond hair pushed up under a bonnet.

  Preacher. Bringing his schoolteacher wife to chastise them.

  He’s going to stop this. Take away your chance. Take away your Charlie.

  The warnings seemed to slide around him, whispers like . . .

  The voice of God. That’s what it was. Resurrection was God’s work, and now this “preacher” thought he’d stop it. The preacher who hadn’t stopped Charlie from dying. The preacher whose own daughter lived. A girl who’d wanted to see his son before he passed.

  The voice whispered, You know there’s a reason she lived. And a reason your son died. A strong, healthy boy, older than the others, contracts the disease after the rest? It’s unnatural.

  Browning shoved past the villagers, ignoring their grunts of surprise. He bore down on Preacher. The schoolteacher started forward, chin raised, eyes flashing, but her husband pulled her back with a whispered word. He strode forward to meet Browning.

  “If you dare—” Browning began.

  “Dare what? Dare stop you from something we both know will fail?” Preacher said, lowering his voice. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d try, but your course is clearly decided. Nothing will help now but for you to see failure, however hard that will be for all of us.”

  Browning clenched and unclenched his fists. The rage still wound around his gut like a cyclone.

  Hit him. Show him who’s the mayor.

  But he’s given me no cause.

  Hit him anyway. Drive him off. Tell him begone. He’s a doubting Thomas. He’ll spoil everything.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” the schoolteacher said, elbowing between the men. “Addie is here somewhere, and we’d like to find her.”

  Browning looked down at the woman. It took a moment for his gaze to focus, the rage still nearly blinding him. He felt his fists clench again. Felt them start to rise. Then he realized what he was doing, whom he was about to hit, and they dropped quickly, and he stepped back.

  “Thank you,” the schoolteacher said.

  “Your Worship?” It was Eleazar, calling to him. “We’re ready to begin.”

  ADDIE

  Addie could see Charlie’s closed coffin, out in front of the community hall. She could also see Preacher and Sophia, searching for her in the small
gathering. She started scooting around the building, but her foster parents were splitting up now, one heading for each side, knowing if she wasn’t in the crowd, she was still in the forest.

  She raced to the back porch and swung onto the railing, then up to the roof.

  Like Charlie taught me to do.

  While Addie was an expert tree climber, she would never have considered using those skills to sneak around town. Spying on folks wasn’t right. As Charlie said, though, “when you’re a child, no one tells you anything, so you need to eavesdrop sometimes, to know what’s going on.” They’d tried listening in on the town meetings through the chimney, but it didn’t really work. So they mostly just climbed up here to get a better view of anything taking place in the village square.

  Like bringing a boy back to life.

  Bringing Charlie back to life.

  She crawled across the roof carefully, slipping a little as she went but always catching herself in time. Below, she could hear Preacher asking someone if they’d seen Addie. They hadn’t. No one had.

  If Addie went down there, she wasn’t sure that Preacher would stop her from watching. He probably wouldn’t. He and Sophia really were teachers, right down to their bones. They’d explain why she ought not to watch, but if she insisted, they’d let her, believing it was always best to see a thing for yourself. To learn a lesson for yourself.

  She didn’t care. She wasn’t going to watch this with them standing beside her, suffocating under the weight of their disapproval. Even recalling their expressions when she told them made her want to scream. Made her want to charge back home, grab her belongings, leave, and never come back.

  They’d betrayed her. That’s what she felt, and it hurt worse than any of her dead father’s beatings. Eleazar had promised to bring Charlie back, and they wouldn’t even consider that he might be able to work miracles. Sophia and Preacher—the very people who’d taught her about God.

  She took a deep breath and calmed herself as she crept to the front. She stretched out there, then inched forward until she could peer down.

  Below was Charlie’s coffin. Still closed. Eleazar knelt beside it. Addie couldn’t see the old man—Rene. He must have stayed inside, where it was warm.

  Mayor Browning stood at the foot of the coffin. Dobbs and Doc Adams flanked him. All three stared at the coffin as if mesmerized. The other spectators milled about, peering over and then whispering to themselves, as if wondering what the fuss was about. They hadn’t been told. Good. If people knew, they’d all come running and they’d crowd around and Addie wouldn’t see the miracle. Wouldn’t see Charlie rise.

  If she listened closely, she could hear Eleazar talking. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, though. It wasn’t English.

  Because Christ didn’t speak English. That’s what Sophia told her when she’d asked why the Bibles were translated. Jesus spoke another language and so did the people who wrote the Bible. Hearing Eleazar speaking in a foreign tongue only proved he was no fraud.

  He finished the words, and then he reached for the coffin lid. Addie held her breath, her heart beating so hard it hurt.

  What if Preacher and Sophia were right?

  When were they ever wrong? When had they been cruel to her? Misled her?

  “No,” she breathed. “They are wrong. They must be.”

  As Eleazar opened the wooden lid, Addie squeezed her eyes shut, prayed as hard as she could.

  Please, God, let him live. I know you didn’t listen before. I know why—

  Addie’s heart clenched, and she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, panting for air as pain filled her.

  I know why you didn’t listen. I was evil. I was wicked. I . . . I . . .

  She couldn’t even form the words in her head. What she had done. The sin for which God had punished her.

  I deserve that punishment. But Charlie doesn’t. Please let him come back.

  She heard a gasp from below and her eyes flew open. He’s alive. He’s really . . .

  Addie stared down. Charlie’s coffin was almost exactly under her perch, and when she opened her eyes, she saw his face. His pale, dead face. His sunken, closed eyelids.

  No, he is alive. That’s why they gasped.

  Only it wasn’t. She looked at the faces of the villagers, the women shrinking back, and she knew the sound came from them, a simple reaction to seeing the poor dead boy. She had but to see Mayor Browning’s expressionless face to know Charlie did not live.

  Yet the mayor’s face was expressionless. It did not crumple with grief and disappointment. He stood there, resolute. Waiting.

  Eleazar bent over the coffin. He lifted his fingers to Charlie’s face and traced them over his pale forehead. When he pulled them back, there were three red lines left there.

  “Is that blood?” someone whispered.

  “Of course not,” another hissed back.

  Eleazar spoke again, in that foreign tongue, touching his fingertips to Charlie’s eyelids, his nostrils, and then his lips. When he reached the lips, he held his fingers there, his head bent, words flowing faster until . . .

  Eleazar stopped abruptly, as if in midsentence. His head jerked up. His fingers pulled back and . . .

  Charlie’s lips parted. Or they seemed to, opening so little that Addie was certain she’d blinked, certain she was seeing wrong, that his lips had been like that already or were moved by the man’s fingers.

  Yes, moved by the man’s fingers. A trick. Isn’t that what Sophia warned of? Charlie’s lips moved by chicanery and—

  His eyes opened. Addie stopped breathing.

  Trick. It’s a trick.

  Charlie sat up and looked about. His gaze lit on Mayor Browning and he smiled, and Addie knew there was no trick.

  Charlie lived.

  * * *

  After Charlie sat up in his coffin, the village erupted like a volcano in one of Sophia’s books. Some people ran shrieking that the dead had risen. Others fell and gave thanks to God for his infinite mercy. And still others barely drew breath before demanding to know why Charlie had been resurrected—why him, why not their child.

  “Charlie was returned to us as proof of this man’s holy power!” Browning’s voice boomed over half the town. “I offered my own child to be tested, as is only right. As your mayor, I must take that risk for my family, before asking you to take it for yours!”

  “Is he truly alive?” Millie Prior pushed through and peered at Charlie as Doc Adams examined him. When she reached to poke him, Eleazar grabbed the old woman’s hand hard enough to make her shriek.

  “Please,” Charlie said, his voice low and rough with disuse. “She meant no harm.”

  “He speaks,” Millie breathed.

  He speaks, Addie thought. But he doesn’t sound like—

  She bit her lip, as if that could stopper her thoughts.

  “Yes,” Charlie said. “I can speak, but barely. I feel . . .” He gripped Eleazar’s hand for support.

  “He’s very weak,” Eleazar said. “I’m sorry if I startled you, my good woman. I do not wish him to be poked and prodded about during his recovery. Your doctor is examining him now.”

  Doc Adams rose. “The boy lives. He breathes. He speaks. His heart beats. His blood flows.”

  Millie dropped to her knees. “Praise be. Dear Lord, thank you . . .”

  As she continued, Doc Adams explained which children could be resurrected. Eleazar took Charlie’s hand and helped him from the coffin. He told Mayor Browning to fetch his wife and then announced that he would take Charlie inside to rest. Addie waited until they were gone, then scampered back across the roof.

  * * *

  Addie eased open the back door to the community center. Inside, she could hear Eleazar talking to his assistant. She closed the door silently behind her. While Eleazar was occupied, she’d speak to Charlie. Yes, he was weak, but she’d take up none of his time or his strength. She simply wanted to . . .

  She didn’t know what she wanted. What she
expected. Only that she’d been robbed of the chance to see him before, and she would get it now. No one would take that from her now, and if something went wrong—

  It won’t. He’s back.

  If something went wrong, at least she wouldn’t lie awake, wishing she’d seen him one last time. So she crept into the community hall while Eleazar spoke to Rene.

  She hadn’t even reached the kitchen door, though, before the conversation stopped.

  “I need to rest now,” Charlie said, and she realized Eleazar hadn’t been talking to his assistant, Rene, at all.

  This would make things more difficult. Eleazar and Charlie were both in the front room, and the assistant was here somewhere, too.

  It didn’t matter. She would see Charlie.

  She peered into the back room before she slid through. There were three coffins now, the fourth gone. Something caught her attention on the floor. An eagle’s feather, under the table where Charlie’s coffin had lain. When they’d picked it up, they’d let his treasures scatter.

  Anger darted through her. Those things of Charlie’s had been so important to his parents after he’d died. Now they were as they’d been in his life—useless clutter. How many times had his mother tried to throw out that eagle feather, saying it was filthy? It was treasured only after he was gone, like Charlie himself. His father had paid him no mind when he was alive—

  Addie wiped the thoughts from her mind. Unchristian, Sophia would say.

  She paused again, caught on that new thought. Preacher and Sophia. She hadn’t even seen them after the resurrection. They’d been there, lost in the crowd. Were they regretting their hasty judgment? Looking for her to apologize?

  Stop thinking. Start moving. Or you’ll lose your chance.

  She stepped into the room, gaze fixed on that feather, to retrieve it for Charlie. She picked it up and as she rose, she caught sight of a figure and stifled a yelp as she wheeled. It was Rene. He sat in front of one of the other coffins, with his back to her. His head was bowed. Asleep.