by Anne C Miles
They crested a steep hill, and Sara gasped. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the massive angel-topped monuments and gothic mausoleums everywhere, each more ornate than the last. Dark shadows held mysteries, overhung with ancient trees. Moonlight kissed marble, and the stones glowed. Sara’s arms prickled with goosebumps.
She itched to touch the markers, to explore the carving and detail with her fingers. She whispered, “Can we get out?”
He parked at the top of the hill next to a forest of obelisks.
“St. Louis Cemetery. It used to be a fort. From here you can see all of it,” Scott said, pointing. “You usually can’t get in at night, but it’s my favorite time to visit, and I know the groundskeeper pretty well. I thought you might like to see the statues.”
Sara twirled in a circle slowly, absorbing the eerie landscape. “This makes you feel better after a rough day?”
Scott rummaged through the hatchback until he found what he wanted. “Sure it does. I used to walk here and think when I was growing up.”
“You know I’m a sculptor, right?”
Scott handed her a flask. “I didn’t know. This will help keep you warm, it’s chilly. Let’s go explore and see what you think, Madam Sculptor.”
Sara took the flask and unscrewed the top, taking a small sip. She coughed. “Bourbon?”
“What else?” Scott said, grinning. “Take another drink, it’s smooth.”
Sara wrinkled her nose doubtfully but looked around and threw caution to the wind. She took a larger drink and swallowed. “Thanks.”
“Keep it. Come on, I want to show you this.” He pivoted and headed downhill toward the mausoleums.
Sara followed him into the shadows. Scott stopped in front of a large obelisk. “Why do you think we mark graves with stone?”
Sara stood, rapt, examining the intricate carving at the base on up to the angel that topped it. It held a trumpet as if sounding a warning. A stone pavilion beside it marked another grave. Inside, the figure of a man rested. His stone eyes stared into the night, seeing nothing.
“It’s been practiced for centuries. I think we all want to leave something, so we’re remembered. We want it to last. It’s a message for those who follow us.”
She traced the message carved into the stone and read it aloud.
Afflictions are but the shadows of God’s wings. His way is in the whirlwind and the storm, and clouds are the dust of his feet.
Sara shivered as she thought of Marilla and took another sip from the flask.
“The symbols mean things, you know. Most people think the obelisks were Masonic, but there was a huge interest in Egyptian symbolism in the early 1900s,” she said. They turned together and walked down the road that circled the hill. As they walked, Sara pointed to different markers. “That person was a Mason.” She pointed to a marker with a compass. “The anchor means hope. The anvil represents creation, the forging of the universe. The empty chair? It’s for a child.”
“You know a lot about this.”
“Art history. I study a lot about symbolism. I use it in my work.” She spied a particularly beautiful marker, a cast metal statue of three children. She studied it, pointing out the style and explaining how it had been created. She walked on in comfortable silence, relaxing as the bourbon and moonlight took effect. Scott grabbed her hand.
They stopped at the base of the hill, near an especially ornate family crypt. This one resembled a miniature classical mansion, complete with pillars and pediment. An angel perched on the roof, wings spread. Gargoyles surrounded the angel, their marble faces at once noble and imperious. Carved into the pediment was a single word—Black.
“This is my family.” He picked up a pebble and set it in the doorway, adding to a large pile of pebbles nestled there. “My mother. I like to think she hears me, walks with me.”
The beautiful angel and its gargoyle attendants framed Scott as moonlight fell on his face.
“When did she pass?”
“I was in high school,” Scott said. “That’s when I started coming to visit.”
Impulsively, Sara leaned in and kissed him.
He looked at her, surprised, and pulled her into a warm embrace, kissing her gently. As the kiss broke, his eyes softened. “What was that for?”
“It was a thank you for bringing me here, for sharing this place,” Sara said. “And for opening up. I do feel better.” She looked into his eyes and kissed him again.
“Any time I can be of service, Miss Moore, you just let me know.” He leaned in, but his phone buzzed. Scott pulled away and looked at it. “Damn,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“We’ll have to pick this up another time. I gotta get back.” Scott’s disappointment painted his face.
“No problem. I have an early class tomorrow, anyway.”
Scott tapped out a reply on his phone, nodding. “Okay, I definitely want a rain check though.”
“That can be arranged.”
Sara bounced into chem class, her eyes sparkling. Her makeup was perfect, and she had spent time on her hair. Her black shirt hugged her figure and in place of her usual denim and Chuck Taylor’s, she wore a black pencil skirt, black leggings, and midcalf black boots. Chunky silver jewelry completed the look. She was humming as she slid into the seat.
Her eyes fell on Peter.
Her stomach lurched.
“Whoa,” said Peter, looking up from his notebook. “You look great. You know our date is tonight, not today, right?”
Sara shrugged. “I felt like dressing up. I’m in a good mood.”
Was in a good mood. She had totally forgotten their date but wasn’t going to admit it.
“Glad to hear it.” Peter opened his mouth, about to say something else, but Professor Kent walked in. Peter stopped, muttering under his breath, “After class.”
Sara didn’t listen to a word of the lecture. She was too busy freaking out. Scott, his kisses, and the magical sculptures had driven everything else from her mind.
Should she tell Peter what happened? Should she still go out with him? She didn’t want to lose Peter. The truth was, she’d nearly kissed Peter yesterday. She’d barely pulled away.
Why? Why did I make out with an almost complete stranger instead? What is wrong with me? Maybe I am selfish. Maybe I’m just using Peter. No. She did care for Peter. She knew that much.
Sara had never felt so confused in her life.
Peter glanced at her and winked. She forced a smile. Sara had nearly decided to come clean when her phone buzzed. She flipped it open and saw a text from her mother.
Moving Marilla today.
Sara tapped back a reply.
You can’t do this, Mom.
The display flashed again. It’s done and I’m not discussing it further. It’s time to let go, Sara.
Things were happening too fast. Sara shoved her books into her backpack and grabbed her purse. The professor had fallen silent at her interruption. “I’m sorry, sir, I have to leave, family emergency.”
She stormed out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAX SPARED PRECIOUS time to speak to squirrels, asking them to spread the word throughout the forest. Danger was coming. The forest might see fire. Many offered to help, and he left it to them, riding hard for the village. Perhaps the squirrels could convince birds to dive at Aric’s eyes and drive the Conclave off. Jax could only hope.
When Jax reached Dohnavur, he led his pony to a tree on the edge of the main road.
“Wait here for me,” he said. It whinnied assent.
Jax went to Mod’s house first. She wasn’t there; the house was shuttered. Bell will be safe. We will escape. He ducked into a side alley, heading for the inn.
Jax stepped into a darkened doorway as acolytes in white robes and hoods appeared. They herded a few bleary-eyed villagers down the cobblestone street toward the Chapterhouse. None of the citizens resisted. They did as they were told, quiet as bones. Jax absorbed the scene, waiting until
they passed to emerge from the shadows.
He dodged a few other acolytes accompanied by watchmen. These carried tools. A large censer swung as they walked, spreading billows of aromatic smoke. One held a large bell. Another carried a candle.
Purification. They were purifying the village.
He followed. They entered one house, then another. They only lingered inside for a few minutes but left behind a smoky haze that spread. Soon it would blanket everything.
Satisfied the monks had not progressed far into their ritual, Jax ran for the Bell and Rider. It was deserted. The rooms upstairs had been emptied, all doors flung wide open.
Heart pounding, Jax rushed to Bell’s room, not bothering with the door but popping directly through the wall.
Bell was gone.
The Conclave Chapterhouse was formed from stone, like most of the larger structures in Dohnavur. It was large, much larger than the dock warehouses or the inn. The uninitiated might not have noticed that the huge reinforced door, and the single arc window made it defensible by only a few acolytes.
Jax was not uninitiated. He was fully alert and very angry.
Jax approached the Chapterhouse from behind, stilled and listened carefully. He paced, footsteps falling in a soft rhythm, three times, up and back along the wall. He walked over to a spot nine paces from the south wall and sank slowly into the packed earth.
The chamber Jax dropped into was unlit, its air close and stale. Jax sensed rather than saw the stone slabs in the room. They held human remains of long-dead villagers. He tapped the walls until one rang hollow.
Jax poked his head through the wall, blinking in the flickering torchlight. The passage was empty. He crept through, careful to step quietly.
He trailed one hand along the wall and hummed. He walked a few paces and hummed again. He kept to his rhythm, moving methodically down the passage. Step, step, step, step, step, hum.
When the passage was paced off, he moved to the next, always to his right. Jax refused to think about the choice, trusting his instincts. He searched for what felt like hours, not meeting any other person.
When the resonance of Bell’s aural nexus finally echoed back to him, it was very faint. But it was enough. My deemling. Jax’s cap quivered. His step quickened as he headed toward the source. He turned down one vaulted passage, and another, dust rising behind him. At intersections, he stopped and hummed. Finally he stepped through a wall, into a small room.
Bell lay on the floor, tossed onto a small pile of straw like a rag doll. Jax ran to her and held his hand before her mouth. She breathed.
Jax opened one of her eyes, and another, peering. Jax removed his hat and pulled out a small bottle. Uncorking it, he held it under Bell’s nose. She coughed and gasped but did not revive. Jax stepped back and scratched his head. He leaned next to Bell’s ear, whispering.
“Bell, it’s me. Your old Jax, I’m here. It’s all right now, my deemling. I’ve come to get you. You’re not alone.” He brushed her hair from her face and waved the bottle under her nose again.
Bell’s eyes fluttered. Jax stepped back and corked his smelling salts, a wave of relief washing over him as she sat up. She looked at the gnome, saying nothing.
Bell’s eyes were empty, blank. Her jaw hung slack. Drool dribbled from one corner of her mouth. She groaned, the sound of a wounded animal, and lifted her hands, reaching for him. She mewled like a helpless, newborn kitten.
Bell had been Purified.
For most, the process of purification produced no ill effects. For dewin, it was a violation and a torture. Jax didn’t know if this could be reversed, but he clung to hope. His Bell would live and be whole. She had to.
Jax almost didn’t pick up the shuffling outside the door. Quickly, he scurried up the stone wall until he was nearly level with the ceiling. He pressed his body into the wall like a dagger entering a sheath. Carefully, he pressed his face back through, exposing himself enough to spy.
Aric stood below, with Nadir, studying Bell as she scraped her hands ineffectually on the stone floor.
Jax shook as wrath flooded him.
“Take her back with the others,” Aric said. “Provided all goes well, we should be able to restore some of her faculties. She might be useful again, and even if not, we can still perhaps learn much. My master shall be pleased.”
Nadir dry-washed his hands, tutting. “She will survive the travel back to Bestua?”
“She should. We’ll take her to the Rift Chapterhouse in a skycart. Our other subjects live there. She’ll get the care she needs. I will remain here long enough to make sure the effects have taken hold with the rest of the village, while you finish the work at the Burrow.”
Nadir held up a hand. “I expect the Burrow to be empty. These gnomes are cunning, spiteful, and cowardly. They will run at the first hint of a problem.”
Aric seemed amused by Nadir’s statement. “Really?” he said. “I seem to remember one of them beating you soundly.”
Nadir’s ears turned red. “That was a long time ago, Master. They are inordinately strong for creatures of their size. Even the most low of creatures when backed into a corner will fight.”
“And even the most educated of creatures can bleed,” Aric said. He leaned forward, his face perfectly unchanged, but a new quiet menace tinged his tone. “Make sure you do not forget it, Nadir. I know you. We need to discover how the gnomes are enhancing those with a knack and creating dewin. These deemae are not to be touched or harmed further in any way, or I’ll make sure you wish you had never been born.”
“Yes, Master,” Nadir said.
Jax could see the high cantor’s hands behind his back, clenched into fists, his knuckles white.
“Good,” Aric said, leaning back and clapping Nadir on the shoulder. “I’m glad we have an understanding. The purification Essence will not harm most of the village. Indeed, they will feel refreshed and at peace. Agreeable. We will suggest these unfortunates have gone traveling, left on their own. They will not question it.” He turned to the door, guiding the cantor out. “Now when you approach the Burrow...”
The rest of his words were lost as the door slammed shut. A bolt slid into place. He waited a few minutes before extricating himself from the stone, emerging and climbing back down. He gathered Bell in his arms, hugging her tight.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered. “I’m going for help. You hang on. I know you understand me. I know you’ll fight.” He released her, doffed his hat again and pulled out some bread. “Eat this, love, I’ll bring you more as soon as I can. I’ll be back.”
Bell took the bread from him, stuffing it all into her mouth. She licked her fingers when it was gone and crooned with pleasure.
“I’ll be back.” Jax climbed into the wall, and up toward the sunlight.
Jax knew Mod had vanished, all traces of her presence removed from the village she had called home for so long. Purification would create holes in the memory of many townsfolk and aid her flight.
The Burrow would already be on the move. By the time he warned them of the cantor’s plans, it would be too late. Bell would have vanished too. He might not be able to find her again.
Jax headed to the inn for supplies, knowing he had no other choices. He had to find a way to help the Burrow, but he still had to save Bell.
Jax rode a short way into the forest and dismounted, leading his pony into a clearing. The trees here were smaller than the giant trees in the Heyegrove, normal oaks, elms, and maples. He located a beehive in a maple on the west side, hanging from a low branch. Jax shimmied up the tree and whispered to the hive. He cocked his head, listening, as four bees emerged. They buzzed around him.
“You’re going to make me do this the hard way then?” Jax said. “All right, I will. But remember this the next time you wish to know where the best flowers grow.”
He built a fire under the beehive and waited for smoke to envelop it. After a few minutes, he shimmied back up the tree. He pulled a knife from his hat and set t
o work. He opened the hive near the bottom. He spied the dark-brown brood area and sawed a large chunk off, leaving the bigger portion for the bees.
He applied leaves and sap to the opening he’d made, sealing it. Jax thanked the hive. He wrapped the honeycomb in leaves, placing it with the knife into his hat. He scrambled back down the tree.
He instructed his pony to remain in the clearing and set off into the forest, heading north. An old enemy hunted there. It was time to make amends.
The hemlock was just as he remembered. It soared into the sky next to a woodland stream gurgling over large stones. This time of day, the black bear lazed. She raised her head as Jax approached, her voice a low rumble. “Son of stone and Song, you are bold to visit me.”
Jax bowed. “I came to honor you, great one. To ask a boon.” He stepped forward and placed the honeycomb between himself and the bear and waited.
The bear sniffed and levered her huge body up, grabbing the package with a massive paw. She flicked the leaf cover off the large chunk of honeycomb and inspected it. She popped it into her mouth and chewed.
Jax waited until she finished. “I also promise to bring you two full nets of fish if you will but hear my need.”
“Why should I trust you?” the bear said. “You have sent squirrels and birds to pester me, you have stolen my honey, and worst of all, you have stood outside my cave in winter singing. Your song is like trees crashing, like rocks falling, like the stench of a month-dead horse. Be glad I do not eat you. Fish? You owe me that and more, stonefriend.”
She stood and swayed, her words a fearsome groan to anyone who didn’t speak Bear.
Jax regarded the huge beast. “My family is in danger, great one. You are right to be angry. It is true, I sang to you in winter. But it is also true I have kept jackals from your cubs in springtime and left fruit and nuts so you could find them.
“If I sent my friends to pester you, kept you from the path of the hunter. My song piled snow high to hide your cave from prying eyes. If it made you howl, and I laughed? You remember, children of the Song love merriment and joy. I meant no harm. I call on you now only in great need.”