Cyrus carried the leather pouch. Of all those present, he was closest to the root of the stone church. He was the one most grounded in the ritual. Abraham wondered why Cyrus had not moved into the cottage when Jonathan Carlson died. The others would certainly have acknowledged him as the logical successor. He knew the ritual, and Abe suspected the old man felt as much, or more, of what he himself was experiencing as any of them. Maybe for Cyrus the voices were even clear and distinct. Maybe clear enough, Abe mused, to differentiate one voice from another.
The pouch contained soil. The soil had been carefully scooped by hand from the walls of a cave. Without explanation for the knowledge, Abe knew that the man had been gone several days and believed dead when he staggered back to the doors of the stone church.
Abe didn't know how old the soil was, or the bag. He didn't know the name of the man who'd brought it back. There were things he might never know if the voices spoke to him for a hundred years, but the important things sprang to the surface. If he concentrated on a thing he understood it. It was something he might have to ponder at length if they survived the hours to come.
One thing he grasped was what awaited them in the white church below. This was no meeting of religious minds he approached. There was nothing human in the thing latched onto the side of the mountain, growing into and through the walls of that old church. There was nothing much left of the man that had been Silas Greene, either, and if they didn't arrive in time they might say the same for all of those caught up in the dark energy of the place.
In front of him, Barbara Carlson marched steadily down the mountain. Her steps were careful and measured. She understood the burdens the others wore and wielded, and she tempered their pace with caution. Her gaze swept the ground before them and occasionally the branches of the trees above, and the sky.
On Abraham's left, Harry George kept pace with him. They were in step, having found the rhythm that Barbara set for them early on. Harry held the long, thin blade in his hand. It was carved wood, pointed at the tip and tapered back like a rapier. He held this at an angle to the ground, and though it dangled easily from his grip, safely out of reach of the others, Abe had noted the strength of his grip. Harry's knuckles were white from exertion and the veins and muscles of his neck stood out like stacked cordwood. Abe wanted to reach out to the man and console him. He wanted to explain the need for a cool head and precision, but there was no explanation necessary. He felt the others as clearly as he felt the mountain and the voices of the past. They all knew.
To the right Abraham's uncle, Jacob Carlson, matched their pace. He held a small lantern. It was made of metal, but the shade, like the vial in Abe's hand, and the geode at the cottage, was of crystal and faceted like a giant diamond. It shot splinters of light into the darkness and worried at the shadows, and it cast Barbara's shadow in a long flowing trail of darkness, swaying down the mountain.
They passed the old church in silence, and Abe saw the flicker of other lights among the trees. He saw the whites of many eyes and heard the shuffle and scuff of footfalls as they stretched out on the sides, and behind, lending their faith, minds, and energy to the ritual. Each time another fell into step, Abraham felt it. The bright light he felt following them down from the peaks grew in intensity as they fed it with their presence.
And there were more than Abraham had expected. They slipped through the woods like shadows. They fell in step behind Cyrus and matched their pace to the moving, shining cross that was formed by Abraham and the elders. They moved with a stealth that was eerie, disconcerting, but oddly comforting. The sensation was of a single entity flowing down the trail and through the trees—a wave of energy connected at a single point. Abraham was that point, the heart, and their blood flowed through his veins, pulsed with the rhythm of their footsteps and hummed in the stone beneath their feet.
They reached the foot of the main peak where the trail branched, and turned right along the tree line toward the clearing where Abraham's mother's cottage had burned. The sensation of déjà vu was strong. He felt the words rise from deep inside, and could almost hear his father's voice singing as he joined in, his voice low and resonant. The others wound their voices in and around his, and the sound was a single thrumming voice, greater than all its parts and dependent on each. The mountain sang, and they moved through the clearing and onto the path leading into the trees.
Katrina turned where she was told to turn and eventually the old Chevy's wheels caught more firmly on solid ground. The road, if you could really call the rutted trail a road, widened. Kat's heart trip-hammered, but she kept her expression stoic. This man said he would lead her to Abe, and she was going to do as he said—for the moment. She had no reason to doubt him—he'd known she was on the mountain and had seemed to be looking for her. He hadn't asked a thing about the other man, and by the time he could get back up the mountain to that barn and find out what had happened, she would have Abe, and they could get the hell out of this crazy, backwoods place.
She expected to hear the girl in the back seat hum Dueling Banjos at any moment. Kat had only a couple of glances in the rearview mirror to judge by, but the girl frightened her. She was small, not old, but her eyes were empty and cold. There was something smudged on her forehead, something Kat couldn't make out but wanted desperately to wipe away. She wondered briefly if showers were common here, or if they just made do with the occasional rain. There were no power lines along this wider road and there was very little sign of other vehicles passing.
None of them spoke. They came to a fork in the road. The left fork looked vaguely familiar, and she saw a low, flat roof in the waxing moonlight. Greene's Store? She couldn't tell for certain. They turned down the other fork. This ran straight around the side of the mountain. It cut through the trees and the headlights' beam bounced crazily off trees and brush as they passed, apparently destined to hit every pothole on the way to wherever.
"Where's Abe?" she asked at last. She didn't turn to meet the man's eyes, nor did she glance into the rearview mirror. She didn't think either of them would hurt her while the car was in motion—their own lives were at risk if they did.
At first there was no answer, then the man spoke. "He'll be along shortly," he said.
"To where?" she knew she was pushing it, but just driving through this dark, crazy, lifeless place without talking was driving her crazy.
"The church, of course," the girl in the back spoke up. "Cousin Abe'll be there tonight."
Katrina stared through the windshield, concentrating on the slow curves and bizarre landscape. She didn't want to plow the Lumina into a tree before she had a chance to either find Abe, or bolt. Had this strange girl said cousin?
"Abe is your cousin?" Kat asked.
"A lot of folks here are cousins," the man replied, cutting off any reply the girl might have made. "We don't get a lot of visitors from off the mountain, and when we do, they generally don't stay long."
I can't imagine why, Kat thought. Out loud, she said, "Abe never mentioned cousins."
"He wouldn't," Elspeth said. The words were almost a spit.
"Him and his ma was always apart from the rest. Didn't act like kin at all."
The left front tire hit a rut and Katrina fought the vehicle back under control. She couldn't quit glancing at the girl in the back seat. There was something about that mark on her forehead, something very wrong, but she couldn't get a good look at it, and the last thing she wanted was to piss these two off. They didn't seem to have a very high opinion of Abe, and that worried her, as well. She hoped he wasn't in as much trouble as she'd been in herself. She hoped she wasn't still in trouble. They'd released her wrists, but that didn't mean they were going to let her go.
She saw a glow through the trees ahead, and the man dropped a hand onto her thigh. She flinched away and nearly swerved off the road.
"Slow down," he said. "There's services being held."
Kat eased off the gas and tried to relax. She'd thought she was getting herself
under control, but that single quick touch had her shaking like a leaf. She was far from okay. She suddenly thought about her blouse. All but a single button were torn free, and it was lower than she was comfortable with. She tugged at the tails of her blouse ineffectually.
She felt his eyes on her and squirmed in the seat, but she didn't meet his gaze. He hadn't touched her again, and that was a good sign. It was worlds beyond the treatment she'd gotten from her kidnapper, and she didn't want to push this guy over any edges.
They rounded the last corner, and the white church came into view. It was brightly lit from within, but there was something… wrong…in the light that leaked through the shuttered windows. There was a cleared area to her left, along the trees, where several trucks were already parked. Kat pulled in at the near end. She didn't want any more between her and the road back out than she had to have, and her two passengers didn't complain. She killed the engine, and turned to the man beside her.
"Let's go," he said with a smile. "The Reverend has been looking forward to seeing you again."
Again? Before she could ask, the girl was out of the backseat and had pulled the driver's door open. The man pushed her out the door, and Katrina stumbled into the shadows.
"Come on," the girl said. She giggled, and the sound was anything but funny.
Katrina nodded, closed the Lumina's door, and turned. When she did, she saw the man more clearly. He bore a slight resemblance to the man who'd kidnapped her, but that wasn't what caught her eye. On his forehead, just like on the girl's, a black swirl poked out from beneath his greasy hair.
The two of them took her by the arms and headed for the front doors of the church at a slow walk. Just for a second she heard voices, and something kicked in her heart. She didn't know why, but she turned to the woods and pulled against them. Then they were on the steps of the white church, and the chanting from within drowned out any other sound. The odd, greenish light shone through the two small, square front windows and stained the grass.
The man opened the door, pushed her through, and it closed behind them, cutting off the night.
Amos slipped in behind the white church silently. He held the shotgun at the ready, as he would if he were hunting. He scanned the shadows, and started at every sound. The old building was painted and polished. The last time he'd been out this way it had seemed ready to fall down, and now you couldn't tell it was old. Green, sickly light glowed in all the windows.
Amos avoided the front of the building. He didn't want to be seen, and he knew that the thing he sought was not in the front of the church. It was fine for his Pa, and Abraham Carlson, and the others if they wanted to waltz up unannounced. Amos had plans, and they didn't include being spotted or captured.
The sound of an engine startled him. Not too many folks drove on the mountain. It wasn't easy to get gas, the roads were bad, and there wasn't anywhere you couldn't get to by walking, if you really needed to go. There were already more trucks here than he'd expected. They helped to explain how the building could be in such amazing repair. A lot had been going on without most of the folks on the mountain even noticing. He hoped it hadn't gone too far.
Amos eased up to the back corner of the church and peered around at the parking area. A car had pulled up, and someone jumped out of the back seat. His heart sped. It was Elspeth. He knew her, even at that distance, and he nearly stepped away from the building to call out to her. If he could get to her before she was inside, he might be able to get away quicker than he'd thought.
Then he saw a second figure pushed from the driver's seat, and a third emerging from the passenger's side. He knew this one, as well. What the hell was Tommy Murphy doing with his sister? Why wasn't she running?
A moment later Elspeth and Tommy led the third person, a woman Amos didn't know, away from the car and up to the front steps. Amos hesitated. He could move now. He could take Tommy a with single blast of the shotgun, save one barrel for escape, grab Elspeth and be out of there. But what if they saw him? What if they already had a strong enough hold on his sister that she wouldn't just leave with him? There were too many maybes.
Amos hesitated, and the moment passed. The three were up the stairs and gone, and he faded back around the corner and backed into the trees to wait. If what he'd been told of this place was the truth, they'd come to the rear area soon enough, and when they did, he'd move. One way or the other, he was getting Elspeth out of there.
As he pulled into the trees, he heard it. Voices raised in song that rang through the trees. He turned, and in the distance he saw a glow above the tops of the trees, moving steadily down the main path toward the church. The song was familiar. His mother had hummed it under her breath while cooking, and he'd heard his father sing it softly while fishing. He wanted to sing along. He didn't really know the words, but somehow, he did. He actually took a step toward the sound, and then pulled back again. If they distracted those in the church long enough, he could be in and out before anyone was the wiser. He had to stay strong.
As Amos pulled back into the woods, Barbara Carlson reached the end of the path, stepped into the clearing and stopped. Abraham stood behind her, and the other elders held the form of the cross. All around them, slipping from shadows and stepping out from behind trees, the others appeared. One by one they lined up to either side, more and more. Amos would not have believed their numbers, had he not seen. On the mountain, even kin kept to themselves most times. It was their way. It was the mountain's way.
The churchyard filled quickly, and they all stood still, waiting, with Abe at the front and center of it all. He held the leather book up before him, gripped tightly between his hands.
Inside the white church, Silas glanced up from the podium. He stared at the back wall, but his senses slipped through wood and shingles to the white-hot glow beyond. He shivered, and he felt the church tremble. The darkness that owned him swelled about him, and he gasped at its strength.
Then it relaxed, and he stood, staring out over the gathered congregation with an incredulous smile on his face.
"Hot damn," he whispered. "Showtime."
TWENTY-SEVEN
Deep in the woods a shadow flitted from one tree to the next. The figure was emaciated, thin as a sapling with straggles of hair sprouting at odd angles from his scalp. He didn't glance up at the moon. He didn't watch his back, or search the trees to either side. He heard the voice. He felt her eyes calling to him. He remembered.
240 He was so old that the concept of measurement in years had escaped him. His skin was the leather of old tree bark, and his eyes, though rheumy and pale, stared fiercely over a large, hawk-like nose. His clothing hung in tatters from skeletal limbs, and he moved like a giant insect in jerky steps that tottered him between shadows with deceptive quickness. His clumsiness was born of too many years of inactivity, but his mind burned with hunger and images that cut through to his heart and spurred him on. The glow from the church seeped through the trees. The moon was so bright that the man-made luminescence didn't shine as brightly as it might have, but he could have followed the vibration of their voices. He didn't need to see them to know they were there, or what was happening. He stopped and leaned on a tree. His ancient frame was wracked with a fit of coughing that rattled about in his bony chest with disturbing vigor. He was coming apart from the inside and would not have been surprised to cough up large chunks of his organs. Unless his breath stopped altogether, it didn't matter. He knew where he had to be; that was all the health he needed. After this night it wouldn't matter. It would all be over, and he would rest.
He righted himself, spit out the remnant of mucous from the coughing fit, and stumbled on. Ahead, myriad voices rose in song and all but blotted out the vibration of the chant from the church. He staggered once, then shook his head, spit again, and hurried forward. There was little time.
Tommy and Elspeth marched Katrina through the church, one on each of her arms. She had taken only a couple of steps inside before the horror of what she'd stumbled
into flashed to life in her mind. She screamed, but her voice was lost in the low chant, caught and buffeted about like a badminton birdie.
Snakes slid around her feet, and she danced over them, fighting not to let them touch her. She saw them ripple up and around Tommy's leg, and then Elspeth's, but they avoided her. Once or twice she saw one draw up and back, as if it would strike at her, but each time her captors brushed the serpent aside at the last second. They moved steadily through the center of the congregation.
About halfway down the aisle she quit struggling and concentrated on getting through and past this room. All around her people swayed and sang. Their bodies were draped with serpents. Their faces were pale, and in the sickly green light that glowed from the very walls of the church, she saw that each and every one of them had the identical dark mark on their forehead. With so many snakes in view, it became apparent what the squiggle represented.
She glanced up toward the front of the church, and screamed again. Any hope that the two holding her by the arms were trying to get her to Abraham faded in that instant. She recognized the man standing, arms raised to the ceiling, chanting into the crowed. It was Silas Greene, the same man who'd stepped from the general store with a wide smile on his face and a hand outstretched in greeting just before she was yanked inside, bound and carted off. At the same time, it was not that man at all.
There was another figure slightly offset and standing directly behind Silas Greene. That figure was human from the floor to a point about three feet above Silas' head. Beyond that, broad shadow-shoulders stretched up toward the rafters. The head mounted between those shoulders reminded her of a huge deer, or an elk, and above it all, stretching into and beyond the confines of the lofty, raftered ceiling, were thick black antlers. Shadows dripped from the thing, and every time Silas moved his arm, or his head, that shadow mirrored the motion.
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