Ahead of them, the brush thickened. Chuggie dropped down on his knees and crawled through the jagged tangle of leafless branches. "You backing me up, Brassline?" Chuggie whispered.
A branch snapped back and whacked him in the butt.
"Yep." Faben said.
Chuggie tore through the thicket of brambles and underbrush. They crawled toward a clearing ahead. Chuggie and Faben tumbled into the open as if the forest spat them out. As soon as they emerged, the brush closed behind them. The jagged branches interlaced to form a nearly solid wall, leaving no sign that they'd ever been there at all. "Won't be going back that way any time soon." Chuggie scratched his chin. "Branches ain't supposed to do that."
Faben nodded in grim agreement.
As they stood up straight and dusted themselves off, they found themselves in an ash-gray sea of waist-high grass. A thick fog filled the clearing, allowing only fifteen or twenty feet of visibility. Above, the sky looked like well-hammered sheet metal, and the sun made no attempt to break through. Telling east from west was as impossible as telling north from south. He turned in a circle, absorbing the scene. This place radiated malevolence and misery the way fire gave off heat. Squinting into the mist, his skin crawled, and he knew this was exactly the place Haste wanted him to be.
Rows of gray posts stretched off into the fog, and Faben tapped the nearest one with her podium. "What's this, Chuggie? It's petrified."
"Faben," Chuggie breathed her name. He put his finger to his lips and hurried to her side. He leaned down and looked at a post. "If I'm right, these posts mark graves," he whispered.
The fog settled down on them as the ominous silence soaked into Chuggie's bones.
"What happened here?" Faben asked through clenched teeth.
Chuggie grabbed his anchor and unwound some chain. "Desecration happened here. That's what."
◊ ◊ ◊
Dawes couldn't stand sitting next to the goats. Their constant state of terror was contagious. The only thing worse than being next to the goats was not being next to them. Being near them beat being alone.
He built a small fire, but it did little to reassure him. Every little sound made him jump. He kept seeing the Gargulak demon out of the corner of his eye. "Damned Faben," he muttered to himself.
No, not Faben. The stranger in the stupid hat, it was all his fault. Faben had always treated Dawes fairly until that bastard got her ear. Soon as that guy came along Faben shoved him into a circle with a fucking demon. This stranger was ruining everything, including any chance Dawes had at ever joining the Woodsmen — and of winning Fey Voletta.
Dawes added more and more wood to the fire, leaving openings for air. He added the dried weeds that sprouted all around, but nothing made the fire grow any bigger.
He got to his feet to look for more fuel.
He froze.
A woman in a gore-soaked white dress stood some twenty feet away from him. Blood gushed from the mangled mess of meat that should have been her face. She stared at him with bulging eyes. She floated slowly toward him. Her ghostly hair blew back as she came. Her ruined mouth opened and let out a shriek that pierced Dawes' eardrums like daggers.
Dawes stumbled backward and tripped over a rock. On his back, he was helpless as she hovered above him. He could smell her blood, her meat, and her breath. Her wail cut into him.
The bloody woman drew back, then surged down at him with a shriek. Instead of crashing into him, she simply vanished. Dawes gasped and panted.
Alone, unable to leave, and too terrified to stay, he trembled on the ground next to his dying fire. Soaked in sweat, Dawes listened to the sounds around him. Which were real and which were imaginary? He'd lost the ability to tell.
Chapter 13
Chuggie and Faben crept through the fog. Chuggie paid careful attention to his anchor and chain, trying his best to keep their noise to a minimum. "Keep your eyes peeled."
Faben clutched her book of summoning in one hand, and in the other, she wielded her podium. "What do we do now?"
Chuggie shook his head. "Somebody knew all about the state of this graveyard, they just never thought to mention it. What we're gonna do is get that purse an' hack our way outta here. Then we're gonna go back to town. When we get there, I'm gonna bust some fuggin' heads."
A tiny creature no bigger than a rabbit growled up at Chuggie through long needle-sharp teeth. It skittered at him, then turned to escape in the mist. Chuggie launched a hatchet. It struck with a crunch before the little monster could make another sound.
They inspected the little broken beastie. It looked like rotten meat packed onto a skull. Long teeth jutted from its wide mouth like a bouquet of quills. Chuggie couldn't decide if it had eyes or not.
Another tiny, needle-toothed monster hopped up from the weeds. It growled, snapped its teeth at Faben, then fled.
"After him!" Chuggie clutched his hatchets and ran after the beast.
◊ ◊ ◊
Dawes flinched at everything. When a leaf fell from a nearby tree, he cringed. When the goats bucked against their ropes or kicked at the ground, he jumped.
A boy stepped from behind a tree into the clearing. He walked toward Dawes with slow, unnatural jerks like a puppet and stopped at the fallen tree next to the goats. He stared at the bucking and braying animals with dead, emotionless eyes.
"W-what are you doing, little friend?" Dawes asked with white-knuckled grip on his knife.
The boy shook violently from head to toe. He emitted a childish growl and took five convulsing steps toward Dawes. Dawes scrambled away, trying to get behind the little fire. The boy grunted as though his mouth were stapled shut. Dawes breathed heavy as he watched the boy step behind a tree.
The ghost boy never stepped back into view, but his growl sounded from every direction. Twigs snapped behind Dawes, no matter what direction he turned.
This was all Chuggie's doing. He'd manipulated the entire situation. The stranger intended to abandon him there with the goats. For all he knew, Chuggie had already murdered Faben. He'd come back any time now to finish Dawes off.
Dawes struggled for the concentration Faben had taught him. If he could focus, he could cast a circle and summon a guardian spirit. He could ward off any bloody-faced ghost or twitching child-spirit that came to call.
A burning human head floated ten feet off the ground a few yards away from him. It stared at Dawes. He found himself staring back. The flaming head faded, and a faceless woman floated into view crying, "Where's my baby?"
This all made it quite difficult for Dawes to concentrate.
◊ ◊ ◊
Chuggie and Faben followed the little monster as closely as they dared as it ran along the row of posts. A small wooden structure, no bigger than Shola's storehouse, emerged from the fog. The creature scurried inside.
"It's like a little chapel," said Chuggie. "Bet you fifty bucks this wood came from dug up coffins."
"Why don't you see if your purse is in there?" Faben said, getting into a defensive crouch.
Instead of a door, thin strips of wood hung from metal rings like vertical window blinds. Chuggie pushed them aside and peered in. A pile of human teeth lay on the ground in front of a coffin-wood altar. He couldn't make out exactly what sat atop the altar. Entrails maybe. Shelves lined the walls. Every surface was thick with the needle-mouthed beasties. They welcomed Chuggie with angry chittering. Chuggie pulled his head back.
"No purse," he said. "Whaddya say we burn this thing down quick?"
Faben nodded with a grin. She stabbed the foot of the podium into the ground and set the book upon it. Turning to a page with a ribbon marker, she spoke the words of an incantation.
The ground undulated as dark red beetles crawled out of the earth. Faben waved her arms directing the beetles toward the desecrated chapel. The beetles swarmed over its surface, acting as one organism. Their collective chirping formed an expectant tone, as if waiting for their next command.
"Now… burn," Faben growled.
Inside the needle-toothed creatures shrieked and thumped off the walls. Three ran out of the fire.
Chuggie threw a hatchet into the first, bashed the second with his anchor, and crushed the third underfoot with a leaping stomp. They'd escaped Faben's flames, but not the wrath of Chuggie. "Firebugs, Faben?" he chuckled. "Are you yankin' my chain?"
Faben flipped her podium in the air and caught it with a smirk.
Chuggie and Faben stepped back as the blaze grew. A stink like burning hair and garbage filled the air. One leg forward, one leg back, knees bent, Chuggie readied himself for anything that might charge from the fog.
When nothing charged them, the pair ventured further into the Desecration following the row of petrified posts. They left a trail of trampled weeds in their wake as they advanced through the soupy fog. It had gotten so thick they could barely see the next post in the row. Chuggie hoped he wasn't leading them in a circle.
Another desecrated chapel, roughly the same dimensions as the one they'd just destroyed, emerged from the haze. Chuggie and Faben crouched down low and moved forward as quietly as possible.
"You wanna look inside and check this one?" Chuggie asked.
"No, you did really well on the last one. I'd hate to break a lucky streak." She stuck the podium into the ground and placed her book upon it. She found a page she liked and gave Chuggie a go-ahead nod.
"Fire's not going to work on this one, Faben." Chuggie scraped the blade of his hatchet against the wall of the chapel. It was constructed from old, battered headstones. He crept up closer with Faben covering his back.
Strips of dried human skin hung from hooks where the door should have been. Glove-like fingers with hair sprouting from the knuckles dangled just above the ground. Blackened flesh clung to the backside of the skin strips.
Before parting the curtain and looking inside, Chuggie checked behind the little building. With anchor held high, he snuck to each corner and leapt around it, ready to bash any attacker with his hardware. He encountered no opposition and gave a thumbs up to Faben.
Carefully, carefully, Chuggie stuck a finger between the hanging strips of skin and eased them apart. He leaned close and peered inside. His eyes couldn't focus in the dark, but his ears registered a rising drone.
A fly landed on his face. When he swatted it away, his elbow bumped the skin curtain. A raucous buzz poured from the doorway along with a cloud of fat, black flies. He stumbled back, coughing as he waved them off. He tore off the curtain of skin and flung it away.
Inside the gravestone chapel, he saw no goat-face purse. Instead, he saw three piles of rot. And those piles seemed to be taking notice of him. Human leg bones stuck up from their faces like calcified crab eyes. Large, long teeth curved from their jaws, opening wide to reveal thick, black tongues. Chuggie realized the jaws had once been human ribcages. The things lowered themselves like putrefying jungle cats getting ready to pounce. They twitched and shook, as if getting ready to leap. Chuggie jumped back.
"What is it?" Faben's eyes grew wide — not fearful, more like she was thrilled.
Standing close to the wall next to the door, Chuggie held his anchor over his head. He waited, poised to strike. The only thing that came out of the door was a hissing, gagging sound.
"More of the little snappers?" Faben asked.
Chuggie shook his head. Just loud enough to be heard, he said, "These are bigger. They got ribs for teeth and leg bones for eyes."
Faben tilted her head and squinted at Chuggie. "What is it?"
"I'm gonna bring this building down." Chuggie tapped his anchor. "Keep your eye out. Something comes out the door or outta the fog, you blast 'em with fire balls or lightning balls. Some kind of balls."
Faben glared at him. "I'm not laughing," she said, "on the outside." She cracked a little smile and put out her hand to stop him from walking away. "The building might not burn, but the shit inside it will. Get back, I'll send in the bugs."
Once more, she summoned the firebugs, and they teemed into the little chapel. With a twitch of her lip, Faben commanded them to burn. A jet of red fire shot out the doorway. She'd just saved Chuggie about ten minutes of exertion, and he appreciated that.
One after another the desecrated headstones caved in. The beasts inside that were still alive snarled and roared as the stones crushed their bones.
Faben slung her book over her shoulder and pulled her podium from the ground. "What now, Chuggles?"
"My guess is we keep movin' along this row. I don't think it's a grid. I think all the rows'll meet in the center." He wished he was more clear-headed. Even for a creature like Chuggie, a Desecration was a bad place to be defeated.
"You sound like you have experience with this," Faben said.
"All theoretical," he answered. "I knew this guy a long time ago… but that story'll have to wait."
"So what do we do?" she asked.
"A Desecration always has a poison core. We find that, we find the wannabe god that runs this place." Chuggie cocked his head to the side, listening. "If my goat-face purse is here, that's where it'll be."
"Do you think Haste brought it here?"
"I believe it's here, but he didn't bring it. Folks don't walk in and out of a place like this. I'd say the purse was drawn."
"I'll be honest," said Faben, "I don't know much about Desecration."
Chuggie nodded. "For a Desecration to take place, a demon, a Gooch, rises up and takes root in hallowed ground. Abandoned cemetery like this'd be easy pickins for a Gooch. I bet Stagwater used to bury their dead right here, didn't they?"
"As long as I've been there, they've always cremated the dead and poured ashes in the river." Faben pushed her glasses up, so she could rub her eyes.
"A Gooch thinks he's a god, so there'll be a temple in the middle." Chuggie squinted into the fog. "Everything's a circle."
"Theoretical experience, my ass." Faben put her glasses back in place.
"Alright," Chuggie said, "I think I might'a destroyed one a few years back. But that was a long time ago, and my memory gets fuzzy. Coulda just dreamt it. But, I'm pretty sure I know what to look for. We've got to get to the center."
"I guess the cakewalk is over." Faben clutched her podium tight.
"We'll get some real work in soon enough." Chuggie couldn't wait to get back to town. Some folks back that way needed a fuggin' slap.
They crept on up the row of posts with fog-damp earth muting their footsteps. Chuggie tensed at every sound. If some tiny beast hadn't alerted the Gooch to their presence, the smashing of the temple most certainly had.
A jagged, beehive-like pyramid emerged from the haze. Its surface squirmed like boiling mud. Chuggie and Faben stole up to it. The pyramid was formed, not of stone and mortar, but of decomposing flesh — flesh that somehow still lived.
Decaying faces snarled, and mouths stretched open in silent screams of agony. Limbs, some without skin, melded together to form a vein-like network. The veins throbbed with something like a pulse. The pyramid hive of a temple oozed black slime like unholy sweat. Goo slid down the sides to pool around its base in a shallow moat.
Slick stone stairs rose up one side of the pyramid. Chuggie halted, looking from the moat, to the steps, and back to the moat.
"Up we go, Brassline."
"You're going to climb that thing?"
He nodded. "It's our way in."
"I can't wait," she replied. She looked down at her clothes with a frown.
"Yeah, I'd say tomorrow's gonna be laundry day. Maybe I'll buy you a pretty new dress for your troubles." He patted her on the shoulder and stepped toward the mountain of slime.
"A pretty dress? Ha. You buy me a Steel Jack shockspear." Faben kicked a rock into the goo.
They waded through the muck and started up the steep, slippery steps. Oozing mouths bit at them, muddy eyes stared, and gnarled hands clawed.
A bony hand with pustules and blisters rea
ched out and snatched at Chuggie's ankle. He drew back and kicked at it. Missing his mark, he slipped and nearly tumbled down the side.
Faben steadied herself with her podium as she slogged up step after sloppy, slimy step toward the top.
The temple's top was a broad, flat surface with a column rising from each of its four corners. The columns stretched into the fog, making their actual height impossible to determine. The faces that formed the columns writhed and twisted. Bones, sticks, and feathers stuck in their slime-filled eye sockets. The air hung heavy with the smell of their fear and hatred.
"Can we help these things?" Faben asked.
"No, I don't think we can."
"Then can't we show mercy and kill them?"
"Look close, Brassline. They're dead now."
While that wasn't entirely true, the desecrated were much more dead than alive. They were beyond salvation.
In the middle of the columns, a gaping tunnel spiraled into the depths of the pyramid. Chuggie peered down the hole.
Faben inched up to the edge. "We've got to go down there, huh?"
"Just you," Chuggie grinned. "I best stay up here and guard the entrance."
Chapter 14
The tunnel plunged like a twisted corkscrew into the heart of the pyramid. As they descended, the air grew heavy with the moist, fungal smell of rot. Firebugs like giant glowing roaches clung to the damp walls. A swarm of the bugs latched onto Faben's podium, turning it into a torch. Another swarm clustered on Chuggie's anchor. He carried it like a lantern.
Twisted and distorted faces covered the walls. Unlike the faces outside, the expressions of terror were frozen and unmoving, as if carved from stone.
After climbing down a seemingly endless expanse of grotesque passageway, Faben and Chuggie discovered a massive chamber with a high ceiling. Some dark conjury held up the ceiling in place without the support of columns. Bones covered the floor like a jagged lake. Antlers stuck up like stunted trees.
Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater Page 17