by Неизвестный
“I saw it happen. She didn't even know. She never felt a thing.” Best to keep the truth to herself. She needed this man to get himself together. He was very important to them now. He took something from his pocket. “I keep these as trouble stones,” he said, hefting a small object in his hand.
“To me trouble is a piece of flint.” He threw the stone. “Earth bind it, no one find it!”
He took a deep breath and contained his grief, at least for me time being. “Okay, let's get to work. Can I assume arson?”
Robin spoke. “The whole downstairs caught at the same time. And we all smelled burning gasoline.”
The sheriff went to his car He spoke into the radio. “This is Williams. Constance Collier's just been killed in an arson fire. I want you to go get that Brother Pierce of yours and lock him up until I get back to question him.”
“On what charge?”
“Murder one! Now, move or it's your ass!” He put me microphone back on its dashboard hook “I shoulda gotten rid of that damn Peters months ago.” He shook his head. “Who'd have known how crazy they really were. How damn crazy!”
The house now consisted of five standing chimneys and two blackened columns. The rest was flaring nibble.
Amanda thought of the treasures that had been lost with Connie. The library now consisted of a couple of stacks of scorched, sodden books. The magnificent Hobbes Faery was not among them.
Steven remained close beside Amanda She suspected that he was as drawn to her as his son. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed his cheek. She tasted the tears there.
Robin hugged her.
Amanda realized that the whoie Covenstead had gathered around her. For a moment she was afraid, but then her ages of experience came to her aid. On behalf of alt the witches she spoke:
“We've had a loss. A terrible loss. But I want all of you to think not of what has been taken from us, but of what Constance Collier gave us before she died. And what she would want us to do. What she would demand of us if she were here. We all want to mourn. I'd like to go crawl under a rock somewhere and just forget this world exists for a while.”
“But we cannot do that, not one of us. Connie would scorn us if we did. We've got to save this Covenstead, and the way to start is to protect it from further damage right now, tonight. I don't think we can assume that Pierce will give up until the whole place is destroyed.”
“Nor can we assume that he's gone. Every one of us is in danger. So I want every coven to be aware of where all of its members are at all times. Nobody wanders off.” She motioned to Sheriff Williams. “Before we organize, find out if anybody's missing. Look around you. Are you all accounted for?”
There was general movement. “The Nighthawks are in the volunteer fire department. They're over by the pumper.”
“Except for the Nighthawks? Good. Now I want everybody who knows how to handle a pistol or a rifle to step forward ” About a third of the coveners, most of them from the town, gathered around Amanda and the sheriff. Generally the town witches kept guns. What weapons were on the Covenstead had been stored in the house. “Deputize them.”
“I did that before I came out, like you said on the phone. I was Just finishing up when the fire alarm came through. We were planning to get here a little early, just to be on the safe side.”
It hurt to hear that. But Amanda continued. “I think we ought to divide up. The main group will go to the village, some people armed. And get some fire extinguishers from the truck. I'm sure they've got them. That thatch could go up in a matter of seconds if our friends manage to get to it with a torch. I want the Rock Coven to stay with me.”
“If you shoot,” Sheriff Williams said, “do so only in self-defense.”
Most of the coveners went off toward the village. Amanda watched them go, the moonlight gleaming off their weapons long after they themselves could no longer be seen.
“Now I want the rest of you to guard the Covenstead. That means the main gate, the West Street entrance near the blackberry patch, and the old road through the graveyard.” She left them to do their own organizing and went over to the pumper. A couple of the firemen were sitting on the running board drinking coffee. “How long do you intend to stay?”
“Until we're sure it isn't going to flare up again. Probably means all night, a fire this big.”
“Good. Watch the horizon, too. Especially toward the fields and off in the direction of the village. The same people who started this fire might not be finished.” With that she went back to the sheriff.
“Amanda,” he said, “I wish I could convince you to hide out in town until I have Pierce behind bars.”
That was out of the question. “I can't leave the Covenstead.”
“I know that. Just wishin' out loud.”
“Robin and Ivy, let's go back to the village. That's where I belong.”
They crossed the path through the herb garden and descended into me dark of the fairy mounds. The moon rode the middle sky.
On their way Amanda cried, silently, privately. Without speaking Ivy and Robin took her hands.
The village was very quiet.
“Where are they?” Ivy asked, standing among the cottages. “Hello?”
“Don't move an inch. Don't even breathe.”
The voice was hard and scared and mean. A man came hesitantly forward from between two cottages. In one hand he held a shotgun. A flashlight flickered, paused a moment on Amanda's face. Her throat tightened, her tongue felt thick in her mouth. They were being captured, right in the middle of their own village.
“Well, look what we got,” said another voice. It was terrible to hear, mad but powerful, cruel but ever so smooth. She remembered it well. Hate came forth in the shape of a man, smiling. “The rest of your people are under guard in that bam over there,” Brother Pierce said. He was Alis of the Alesians, he was the Bishop of Lincoln.
Other men were bringing the three guard covens toward the village. “Looks like we got the drop on you folks,” Brother Pierce said. “We've just been waiting and watching. We knew you'd fall into our trap.” He motioned them into the bam with the others, but when Amanda started to follow, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Not you, young woman. You're coming with me. There's a lesson I want to teach you.”
Brother Simon Pierce put a rope around Amanda's neck, knotted it, and led her off toward the dark face of Stone Mountain.
Chapter 31
In the dark Amanda stumbled and fell hard against her burned arm. The pain drew an involuntary shriek. She hadn't wanted to scream, she had wanted to go in silence.
Nothing was served by this man seeing her weakness. He stood over her, his rifle crossing his chest, a tower in the moonlight. She looked up at the gleaming face, the amethyst eyes. Did he, too, remember the other times, when he was other men. . . Did he know the kinship between the two of them, the long association. In some ways he was as much the dark side of her own spirit as Tom was of the Leannan's.
How had so few of them managed to capture so many witches? For a moment it seemed almost impossible, even with the advantage of surprise.
Then she saw the help they had.
It was visible as thin smoke, hanging just beside him, the handless girl and also something else, at one glance lace and blue, at another slow-clicking claws.
“Abadon.”
“That's one of God's words. Don't you make a spell with it'” He brandished his rifle. “I'll blow your brains out right here and now!” She fought her panic back just enough for silence.
The ghostly child whispered in his ear, and after a moment he spoke again. “Let me tell you something. Miss Witch Woman, so you understand. Get on your feet.” She stood up.
There must be some way to communicate with him. “Do you know what's there, attached to what you carry in your pocket? Surely you do. It's talking to you—”
He slapped her across the mouth The blow hit with a bright yellow flash. As best she could, she swallowed her anger.
S
he was unable to look for more than an instant into his eyes. They were sheened with hurt, not hate She could hardly bear to imagine the suffering of this man.
They reminded her of other eyes—Mother Star of the Sea's. They were desolate buttons, the eyes of an abandoned doll, the eyes of guilt. The Led man's voice came as a murmur of wind; “Remember that Mother Star of the Sea is part of you. Remember, she is your guilt.” The voice faded, and Amanda considered its message. If she could release herself from her own guilt, she could release this man from his. Had she the compassion to love somebody who had so hurt her, and was about to hurt her more? Fighting him could not save her now. Only love could do that.
“You come with me, and you come fast If I don't get back to your village inside of an hour, my men are going to set that round cow barn of yours on fire, and all the devils in the damn thing are going to burn and their children with them. So I suggest we get a move on.”
The night was growing much colder. Amanda shuddered and set off, walking quickly. Tears obscured her vision. She told herself to be calm, but it was very hard. They had not climbed long before he spoke again, his voice rough. “Stop here.”
He was walking behind her. She felt him draw close, felt his nfle between their bodies. His breath trembled down her neck.
“What do you know about spells?”
“I—”
“You are one.”
“If there is anything, any black panther or walking statue or anything at all tike that, I am going to let them burn your people. And I am going to burn you very, very slowly. Do you understand that?”
She saw Tom in the tangle of brush at the foot of Stone Mountain, saw him by his moonlit eyes. It was all she could do not to call to him.
She expected him to spring at Brother Pierce's throat, to kill him, or at the very least to grow enormous and scare him away.
Tom's eyes were fixed on her. He was panting.
There was a long silence. Pierce's lips came close to her ear. “Listen, you and me, we have a problem. My people are kind of like, they're out for blood.”
“You burned Constance Collier to death!”
“There was a sign from the Lord.”
They were very close to Tom now. Amanda could just see his crouched form in among the rocks. Any moment he would spring.
Closer they came. Now she could see his tail switching in the moonlight. She moved forward more quickly, to give him room for his jump.
But something happened to prevent him. It was very quick and very damaging: a needle of a claw sliced out from the ghost child and narrowly missed blinding Tom. With a scream he bounded off into the darkness.
“What the hell—”
“It was just a cat. I saw it.”
“Just a cat! You people got a few cats, don't you?” After a moment of studying the brush Pierce continued on, pushing her with the side of his gun.
Dread filled Amanda. Hate dominated love. The flower always died. Every birth ends in death. Perhaps that was the true lesson of the Sabbat that was upon them. Samhain is about the tragedy of the dead, not their persistence in the spirit world.
As she had on other last journeys, Amanda sought solace in the sky. The sweep of the heavens reminded her that peace, in the end, would come. Worse things than this have happened, and better things, and as does joy, sorrow has an end. Nobody will ever know all of the secrets in the stars, the worlds that have come and gone.
They were more than halfway to the Fairy Stone. No matter his reluctance she knew that she would soon be burning again, and he tending her fire. It was a cruet homecoming for mem both. His guilt came along beside him and he didn't even see her. The little murdered girl glared at him, but he was blind to her childish stare. In her form Amanda could see the flickering image of the blood-red scorpion, Abadon. It seemed an amazingly dangerous thing, this creature. Was this a denizen of some real and final hell she had not suspected before? Abadon was not an invention of Brother Pierce's guilt. It had an independent life of its own. The way it looked at him, so steadily, so. . . carefully, suggested that it thought it would soon devour his soul.
The wind hit them as they reached the rocky crest. Amanda began to shiver uncontrollably. A sweatshirt was no proof against this cold.
The wind sighed in the bare trees and whistled across the stones. Listen as she might, she heard no words in it. There was only the peace of its movement, as it flowed its own secret way.
Ahead, glowing in the moonlight, she saw me Fairy Stone, and before it the gangling rowan bush.
“Get to work, sweetheart.”
“Doing what?”
“Gathering firewood! It's as cold as the devil's behind up here.”
He was going to make her build her own pyre. Would he also make her light it? An awful quivering started inside, in me skin and meat that would soon be dripping grease. The stake was an agony beyond the conception of those who had never endured it. Her legs resisted by growing heavy, her hands by getting clumsy. The branches and twigs she was gathering seemed to cling to her like claws.
Before, she had always defied him. Now she must attempt something new. Was there enough love in her to include this evil being? “You can be free of your guilt,” she said miserably, hopelessly. “I can help you.” She knew that he had murdered the little girl, she could see it in his eyes, marked indelibly there, that one moment repeating and repeating in their glassy reflection. “She will forgive you, Simon. She has already forgiven you.”
“How the hell do you know about that? Devil musta told you!” The butt of his rifle whistled in the wind, then she was flying against the Fairy Stone, her kindling flung about her. “Pick it up! Load it up on that rock. I want the whole country to see this fire. It's a beacon to the people of the Lord, that they have been made free!”
She scuttled around gathering twigs. Her side hurt where he had hit her, her shoulder and arm where she had been burned earlier. So much pain.
She had to get through to him. There was no other hope. “Simon—”
“You shut your mouth and keep working!”
He feared, therefore he hated. On the surface he hated women, deeper inside he hated the woman in himself. At his core he hated life.
Mistakes, recriminations, and guilt are the central bondage of evil. Finally she had a good-sized pile of brush and kindling. “Come here, witch.”
She went to him. She looked straight into the desolation of his eyes.
I am trapped, those eyes said. And I hate you for it.
The wind scurried, hissing against the Fairy Stone. I am the hand that takes. The sheer power of his own guilt was opening the stiff fist in Brother Pierce's pocket, opening it and clutching his thigh with the bony fingers. A question, dark with terror, concentrated in Pierce's eyes. She could see die moonlight reflecting on them as on two brown glass balls.
“I can free you, Simon. I have the power to forgive sin.”
The eyes narrowed. “You're crazy.”
“The hand is alive. I can see it moving in your pocket. Not only that, I can see what it's attached to—a little girl you once knew.” She spoke softly, trying to calm him with her tone. Carefully she reached toward him. “Face the wrong you did her and forgiveness will come.”
“Wrong I did? We aren't exactly here to talk about my guilt, are we? You're the witch, the spellmaker, the devil worshiper.” He snorted, trying to deride her. “You're evil incarnate.”
“I'm just a woman. What you've got in your pocket might well be evil incarnate.”
“You shut your mouth about that, Miss Witch!”
“For heaven's sake, Simon, you're carrying the hand of a murdered child. You can't tell me what's evil and what's not.”
He looked at her out of eyes sharp with suspicion. “You know too damn much,” he murmured. “Maybe you'd better go over and lie down in that kindling now.”
That terrible command brought back the harshest of memories: the feel of me cage that had held Moom, the way the bars had bent but
never broken; the hideous three minutes that Marian's fire took to crawl to her through the wood, then the swooning torment when it first touched her feet.
She told herself that she was reconciled. Beyond death, this time, she knew that summer awaited. She could smell the air of it, and already hear the music.
Even so the command made her sink helplessly to the ground. Her mind might be reconciled, but her body refused to go willingly into such torture. “I'm sorry.”
He twined his fingers in her hair and dragged her to the pyre. “Put your arms over your head.” When he grasped her wrists, a shock of knowledge swept through her. She saw the guilt that lay yet in his hands.
“You murdered that little girl and cut off her hands so they couldn't identify the body. Then you kept one of them. You did that, didn't you?”
“I am a man of God! How dare you blaspheme me!”
“You can still find your way out of this.”
“You're a lying witch and you're gonna burn!”
He crossed her wrists and wound the end of a long leash around them. Then he looped wire around her ankles.
She remembered how as Marian she had watched the clouds. She would do the same with the stars.
He tightened the leash. As long as he kept it taut, she could struggle all she wanted, but she could not get away.
Even as he worked, she saw the sadness in his eyes. His surface personality might really hate her, might really be about to burn her, but his deeper essence loathed what he was doing. She got a flickering image of herself escaping across Stone Mountain. “You were going to let me go. Why have you changed your mind?”
“How come you know so much about me? Nobody in the world knows what you know.”
She remembered Connie beating at her flaming head.