by Scott Hale
“Thanks, Old Girl.” The Skeleton took Cammie by the jaw, opened her mouth, and wiggled the fang he’d used to summon her before back into its place in her gums. “Go on, now.”
Before Vrana, Aeson, or Elizabeth could react, Camazotz launched off the dune. Quickly, they jumped from her back and crashed to their knees in the sweltering sands.
“Kres,” Aeson rasped. “It has to be close.”
Kres was the only known village in the Ossuary. Without it, and the resources the people had there, Vrana had no idea how they’d survive the night. There was no water or game here in the desert. There was nothing. And why should there be? In the wilds of Heaven, what need for God of sustenance?
“It is,” the Skeleton said.
Vrana and the others lumbered towards him.
Past the dune and the cliff it stood upon, at the center of a perpetual avalanche of sand, a twelve building village stood. A single sign forged from dried-out vermillion veins formed the word ‘Kres.’ And all about it, mummified figures stood; their wraps unraveling in the greedy wind.
The people of Kres were waiting for them.
CHAPTER XXII
Isla stood outside at her pulpit built from the wreckage of the house of the elders and shouted to the whole of Rime, “I’m only going to say this once! It shouldn’t have to be said at all. It should be understood, the same way you understand you have to breathe to live and do it every day without thinking. The only time you notice your breathing is when there is something wrong with it. When you’re too scared, or too exhausted. When you’re bleeding out. Today, you should be scared, you should feel exhausted. I am going to bleed you out, and if you want to see tomorrow, it’s time to change the way you think.”
Winnowers on horseback corralled the ninety Night Terrors in attendance. There were far more Rimeans than there were Winnowers, but after having been prisoners for months, the fight and the energy to fight wasn’t with them. They were malnourished; their bodies were hunched, almost too weak to hold up the furs and the masks they wore. It was twilight, too; and though they seldom slept, being awoken at this hour meant they’d slept even less. Two-thirds of the ninety were propped up against their neighbors, fighting to stay awake. The other third was constantly shifting to beat back the frostbite that kept testing their limbs with its icy teeth.
“God has come. The world must change. It must be better. You, demons, must change and be better. Any other time in history, you would be massacred for the crimes—micro, mezzo, and macro—you’ve committed against humanity. Humanity stands on trial as well, and when their time comes, I will judge them, too. But you’ve already been found guilty, demons, and so begins your sentencing.
“Night Terrors are Neo-Nazis; alt-right conservatives who would engage in any act of violence, abuse, or discrimination to propagate their sick ideology. You have appropriated our culture, and the culture of the animals you wear on your head, and you have diluted them. You murder humans for weak justifications and ignore your hypocrisy in doing so. You call us ‘Corrupted,’ and refuse to accept us as anything but the faults you perceive in us. I see more men than women in this village, and your elder is a man. As I understand, your elders previously were all women. Where is the outrage? There is none, is there? Because the patriarchy is alive and well in the dead heart of Gelid.”
The snowfall, which had been mostly flurries, picked up into fluffy flakes as large as the tips of one’s finger. Sensing it would obscure the audience’s view of her, Isla signaled to her guards to light the torches around her. She already knew many of these Rimeans didn’t understand the words she was using, and that was fine. They’d learn them regardless, or they’d spend the rest of their short, miserable lives comprehending the errors of their ways at the bottom of a mass grave.
“In my time here, I’ve seen no indication that your people have invested in the trials and tribulations of those who identify as asexual, bisexual, gay, genderqueer, lesbian, or transsexual. Many of you may identify as this, but no one is talking about it. This is a crime. I perceive this as nothing more than a cisgender, heteronormative agenda. We should wear our qualities on our sleeves, not hide within them. If people have no issue with who you are or who you sleep with, they are lying to you. You are lying to each other and the rest of the world. Your hate runs deep. I know it is there. I am an augur. I’ve read you all and labeled you, like an anatomical chart.
“God has come. The world must change. I’m going to change it. If not by words, then by force. The Night Terrors have bent the world and fucked it over and over for so long that it doesn’t even see your actions as rape anymore. I want outrage. I want vengeance. I want the steps to Ghostgrave in Eldrus to be awash in the blood of men and monsters. The Old World was rife with discrimination, persecution, marginalization, and institutional oppression, and just when the augurs of old, like Lux, were about to change it, the Trauma ruined everything. There isn’t going to be a Trauma this time to save you, demons. I’m going to bend you all over, and when you like it, you’ll have learned.”
Isla, practically on fire with rage, stopped and steadied her breathing. Her hands were fists and sweat was dripping from them. That last line might’ve been a bit much, but horror was all that these demons knew. It was okay to approach them with prejudice. She’d known enough of them to know they were all the same.
Joy made a noise behind her. The kind of noise that said wrap it up. And she was right. This couldn’t run too long, or the effect would be lost. Plus, depending how this went, they might have a busy day ahead of them.
“The Cult of the Worm lives in Rime,” she announced. “Many of you know Joy. She is an angel sent by God in the form of a beautiful missionary. Here are your options, demons. Be saved my way and join the Cult, or die. This offer is extended only to the men. The women, I order, because they are women and inherently smarter, though their decision-making is compromised due to oppression, will automatically join the Cult. Trust me, it is for the best. And one day, we may even be sisters.”
The Rimeans woke. They screamed and shouted at Isla that she was a monster, that they would not join her. Children, and adults acting like children, gathered snow and hurled balls of it at her. But their aim wasn’t true, and their strength sapped, and so few made it to the pulpit. The Winnowers, on horseback and foot, pinched the gathered Night Terrors closer into one another, preventing them from breaking free into a riot.
Joy made another sound. Isla turned around to face her.
Forty, she mouthed.
Isla stared at her, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Forty. That was so many. They’d agreed on the number, but she wasn’t sure she agreed now. She felt good about her speech, and she had so much more to say. She felt like she’d gotten through to some of the Rimeans, that there was still hope for them to be like her.
Isla mouthed back Twenty.
Joy’s face darkened until it was nothing more than Void and stars.
Isla knew her place in the world. It was at King Edgar’s side. Until she got there, however, she had to make Joy happy. It was okay that she was being taken advantage of. She’d consented to it. Even if it’d been out of fear of death, she’d consented to it…
Isla made a circle in the air with her finger. The Winnowers closed in on the Rimeans. Those closest and those that fell were the first to be pulled from the group, beaten until the snow around them was bloodied, and shackled.
Isla waited on the shore of Onibi’s lake while ten of her Winnowers and Joy guided the forty Night Terrors onto the ice.
“It’s best to wait outside when Onibi is feeding,” Joy had told her. “An empty stomach doesn’t discriminate. You should try eating less.”
Joy brought the procession to a halt over the place where Onibi’s outline, the burning headstone, rested deep below the ice.
Isla pulled her legs in to her chest. It was such a waste. All this time, Joy had been on her about writing a speech and spreading belief, and now she was just going to throw it a
way. Forty Night Terrors here, another thirty to be used for the Cult of the Worm and Joy’s “children,” though everyone knew what they really were: flesh fiends. That only left Isla twenty sad, pathetic Rimeans to work with. They weren’t enough to change anything, except maybe her bedsheets.
Give her what she wants, she thought. Once she’s done what she has to do, it’ll all be about you. She helped Lux. You can be like Lux.
“Onibi!” Joy cried. “A deal is a deal. I have brought those who’ve dared lived in your woods all these years. They have grown immune to Rime Rot, but they will not be immune to your hunger. Take your dead and lend me yours. In their eyes, waters are chronicled.”
Purple light shot through the cracks in the ice, like blades of butchers’ knives. The Rimeans and Winnowers panicked. They should’ve known this was coming, but like most animals, they were too stupid to see it until they were on the slab.
Green, amorphous swells of tortured spirits rose from the ice. There were hundreds of them, reaching and swinging to the scattering sacrifices on the lake. No matter how far the Rimeans or Winnowers went, or how fast they moved, the spirits were faster. They washed over the fleeing masses and stuck to them like an adhesive. Once latched on, they reared backwards, like chains, dragging the prisoners and guards across the ice, to the cracks from which they’d emerged. Then, the spirits retreated into the icy depths, taking their catch with them. Through the cracks. Some of which were no wider than a hair.
All across the lake, people were being pulled into the ice. They were being shredded to fit the fractures. Entire bodies were degloved. Torrents of blood exploded from the lake. Sheets of skin smacked against the frozen surface. Hands, reduced to nothing more than a few tendons and hunks of muscle, held on to the ice, but the spirits were stronger. Heads, trapped inside the larger fissures, wailed for help, but the spirits were louder. Like a musical fountain, geysers of blood accompanied notes of discord to this choreography of pure carnage.
In a matter of seconds, the Night Terrors and the Winnowers were gone. Their blood and entrails that lay steaming atop the ice seeped into the lake. Not a single drop or crumb was spared.
Isla realized she’d backed much farther away from the lake than where she’d been. Every part of her was tensed. There was a warning, but before she could heed it, she was heaving and vomiting everywhere. She was disgusted, not just by what she saw, but what by what she’d wrought. For the first time in a long time, she felt badly for her actions.
Joy waved at her from Onibi’s lake. “Come,” she said. A dark portal took shape beneath her, in the form of rotted lily pads. “I want to show you where I live. And it would be nice to get a good night’s sleep in my own bed, before the real killing begins. I want to be in top form when they see my face.”
CHAPTER XXIII
Justine was Lillian.
Lillian was Justine.
Two parasites feeding off the other, neither one trying to be the first to go.
Felix ran out of the bathroom, hyperventilating. He careened through Justine’s room. Body catching on the multi-colored sheets strung across the room, claustrophobia took over. He stopped, tried to untangle himself. Mouth webbed with spit, he cried out. Eyes wet with tears, he squeezed them shut. Cheeks hot and red, he collapsed, and the room went with him. His head hit the floor; and the stone it was made of put him to sleep.
He woke ten minutes later, not on the floor, but on a couch, Justine kneeling beside him, tending to the small cut on the side of his head. Still coming to, he whimpered as she ran her fingers over the wound, rubbing a clear goo into it. She smiled like he imagined his mom might smile if she were here doing this for him, instead. It was meant to be comforting, to let him know he was okay and everything was going to be alright, but that wasn’t true. None of it was true. Not their heaven, nor their god; and now, not even her. She looked herself, but really, she was someone else, instead.
Felix jerked his head away and sat up on the couch. He stared at Justine, and all the love he had for her left him. He didn’t know her face. He only saw the one he’d never seen.
“You’re not you,” he said.
Justine didn’t respond. Her pale blue irises split apart like dividing cells, and then came together, colorless. She lingered on his neck and the chain of the necklace around it. Her lip quivered. She was staring at the sealing stone through his shirt. He couldn’t tell if she wanted him to use it on her, or if she wanted to take it for that very reason.
“I wish you’d wear the robe I made for you.” Softly, weightlessly, she sat down, her legs folded under her, and said, “Will you hear what I have to say, just one last time?”
No, he thought, but didn’t say. He never said it. He couldn’t. Not to her.
“Darlene Lillian Cross, that’s her full name, and in the Old World, she lived in Bedlam—”
That still exists.
“—in a subdivision called Six Pillars.”
Oh my… That’s what we used to call Penance.
“Amon Ashcroft, God’s Harbinger, had thought he’d prepared the world enough for Its awakening, so he sent his own cult, the Disciples, to find the Speaker. They identified four children in Six Pillars as possible Speakers, and they… tested each of them. Darlene was the only one to pass their test, and when she did, she emerged with a direct line to God.
“But Amon hadn’t prepared the world as well as he thought he had. Millions embraced Lillian and her people, the Lillians, and millions rejected her and them. A holy war was fought, both in person and across the Internet, until God, sitting on Earth like It is now, decided It’d had enough. It marked Its followers with Corruption, to spare their bloodlines because of their dedication, and those that went unmarked were ravaged by the plagues of the Green Worm.
“The Trauma tore the Earth apart. God left, and the humans were looking for anything to blame. At first, they blamed the supernatural creatures that’d entered the world in droves with God’s awakening, and then, over time, they turned on the Lillians. The Lillians were forced from cities, killed on sight. Many bloody battles were fought for nothing in particular.
“Then, one day, Lillian herself attempted to reclaim Bedlam, her home, to make it the new holy capital of the Lillians. Others who lived there, and soldiers from Vold, fought her and her people. Almost everyone was killed in Bedlam.
“Lillian wasn’t, nor were a handful of her trusted advisors. She was desperate. Her whole life had been dedicated to religion and God. To give up was to commit suicide, and she was so righteous in her beliefs, so absolutely convinced they were right and necessary for the world, she sacrificed everything to have a chance at a little more.”
Felix remembered to breathe. He took a few deep gulps of air. His head hurt from where he’d split it, but the pain was background noise. “How did she get your n-necklace?”
“Ruth Ashcroft, Amon’s niece, had it. A long time ago, she, her brother Edmund, and her mother, Amelia, were being investigated by a man named Herbert North in Cairn, a European village. They were trying to spread the vermillion veins into the country. For a moment, Amelia took control of Herbert, and for whatever reason, stored my necklace inside his neck.”
Felix touched his neck, cringed.
“Many, many years later, cursed with a long life from exposure to the veins, Ruth found Herbert North and cut it out of his neck. She wrongfully assumed the gem was the Gray Worm’s and intended to one day use it for her own means to strike back at her uncle and God. They’d both abandoned her, you see.
“It was not the Gray Worm’s necklace, but my own. It merely needed years of cleaning, being that it hadn’t seen use in quite some time.”
“Do you know where the Gray Worm’s is?”
“Yes,” she said, “I did find that out, eventually. It is trapped inside the achromatic tower the Scavengers worship. The tower was made from melted down firearms. The Worm lives inside it, partially awakened. It represents technology, or the dangers of it. When they created that
monument unknowingly to the Worm, technological knowledge was scraped from humanity’s collective mind. That is its power.
“Ruth was killed shortly before God awoke. She left behind my necklace. Lillian and her followers rediscovered it in the ruins of Brooksville, a city neighboring Bedlam, when they were moving through, taking over the area. Immediately, Lillian knew its purpose, and began to consider making use of it.
“With the Lillians decimated, she used the corpses of her allies and enemies in Bedlam as offerings to me. Unlike the other Worms, I require a host. Lillian was my host. She gave up her dead, and herself, to give rise to me. I took over her body and mind under the condition that I use my powers to restore the Lillians and, one day, awaken God.”
Felix, leaning forward, whispered, “But you decided not to.”
“I knew that if I did that, the point of my existence would be realized, and I would be no more. A Worm’s only purpose is to lead those who summon it to ruin. I did not want to go back to sleep, and I had developed a fondness for this world. I did not want to see it in flames. I thought that if I betrayed my nature, I could live forever, and this world be a little better for it.”
“But…” Felix closed his eyes; her previous transformation in the bathroom slithered in the darkness there. “God’s awake.”
“And so is Lillian. She believes it is time for her to emerge and resume what she started so long ago. I am almost useless to her now. That is why she is tearing me part, trying desperately to kill me.”
Felix, gripping the sealing stone, said, “There’s other ways? Other than this?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “A Worm has never been anything but what it was intended to be before. She may kill me. I may die without her. We may die together once we’re separated. The stone’s effect could be the same.”
“We have to kill God,” Felix said, hurriedly. “We have to kill It to save you.”