Anno Dracula 1899 and Other Stories

by Kim Newman

  Montague listed the accomplishments of his team: trance mediums, physical mediums, psychometrists, psychotronics, psychokinetics. Ghost breakers in grey flannel, punching a timeclock and tuning in to the beyond just as his old audience had tuned in to the Mercury Theatre on the Air.

  Even in his lightweight suit, Welles was perspiring uncomfortably. He was surprised, then, when Montague, on a doorstep as wide as an interstate highway, handed him a parka. The scientist pulled on a thick coat himself, and flipped the fur-lined hood up over his head. He looked ready to strike for the South Pole. Perplexed, Welles followed suit, wrapping the cumbersome garment around himself. He waited for the punchline, but none came.

  Montague threw open the great doors of Xanadu, and stepped in. Welles followed, and was embraced by an invisible blizzard. As the doors slammed to behind them, he felt as if he had left the valley of Shangri-La and returned to Tibetan wastes. The scientist looked smug, and Welles tried to conceal his astonishment. Outside was tropical heat. Here, within the walls of Xanadu, an arctic frost lay over everything. Welles asked if there was any scientific explanation. Montague didn’t answer, but provided the information that Charles Foster Kane, born in 1864, spent his first years in a Colorado boarding house, coping with the fierce winters.

  The statues and paintings were gone, but in their place were shaped blocks of ice. One of Montague’s team was taking photographs of a swirling column that turned into a perfect Floradora Girl. The ice shifted and cracked as the girl performed a dance step with the grave dignity of a glacier.

  The thick frost on the walls was shaped into dioramas. Welles was drawn to a screen-sized patch of sparkling ice. Street scenes turned into stage sets. The view crept up over houses and in through roofs. Welles wished he had a film crew with him. The ice pictures were the images he had dreamed of when he first conceived American. They melted and reformed in different configurations.

  Montague stood back, and let Welles wander through the halls of Xanadu, constantly amazed, delighted and intrigued by the ice sculptures. The scientist was cool and cautious, not expressing an opinion. A lifelong measurer and tabulator, Montague was probably not even qualified to have an opinion.

  Now Welles understood why the Kane people had sent for him. It was not that he could explain the ice sculptures, any more than he could explain ‘Rosebud’. It was that he was the only one who could appreciate what was here.

  The great staircase of Xanadu was thick with snow that came from nowhere and smoothed away the steps, fanning out around Welles’s feet as it blanketed the parquet. The staircase was a slope suitable for skiing, for sledding. For an instant, as if a diamond bullet had pierced his brain, Welles thought he had an answer to the unanswerable. Then, like ice in the sun, it melted away.

  THE PALE SPIRIT PEOPLE

  IT WAS A perfect circle, such as might be drawn in dirt with a stick and a length of twine. Less broad than the span of a man’s hand, the spirit object was thin yet resilient, fashioned of stuff unknown to the True People. Hawk That Settles understood from one of Two Dogs Dying’s followers that the object could sing, but he did not understand how this could be so. Since taken from its place of concealment, it had been silent.

  Hawk That Settles had found it supple as a good bow; now, he watched Sky Buffalo tap, taste, shake, strike and scratch. The circle would not be hurt, though, in truth, neither the young man nor the shaman put it truly to the test, throwing it on a fire or hammering it with a rock. To destroy a spirit object was to invite ill fortune into the lodges of the People.

  As Sky Buffalo turned the singing circle over to sniff its underside, the silver mirror caught light, holding rainbows to itself. The edge was sharp enough to draw blood. At the centre was a hole through which the shaman poked his forefinger to the first knuckle. On one side were tiny scrawls in black, scarring the almost beautiful surface.

  ‘Two Dogs Dying found this in the burial ground?’ the shaman asked. The lines about his mouth and eyes were grooves worn in old leather and he had fewer teeth than fingers.

  ‘It must be so,’ Hawk That Settles replied, ‘for it was hidden near the lodge Two Dogs has built among the dead.’

  ‘Hidden?’

  ‘Two Dogs hides many objects, as one would hide a shameful thing.’

  ‘Objects?’

  It seemed to Hawk That Settles that to be a shaman mainly required the repetition of odd words with a questioning inflexion. He did not share his father’s reverence for the storied wisdom of the aged. After forty-two summers, the song of Sky Buffalo was sung. The shaman had built his last lodge far from the encampment and refused to hunt, sustained in his dying days by the superstitious kindness of old women.

  But here was Hawk That Settles – who argued that food left after young men and women had fed was better stored against winter than wasted on those grown old and useless – sitting at the last fire of Sky Buffalo, asking for help.

  ‘There are other objects,’ Hawk That Settles explained. ‘Not like this one. Some have seen them, though Two Dogs and the others waste effort building invisible lodges for their concealment.’

  ‘Invisible?’

  The shaman was doing it again. Swallowing impatience along with smoke, Hawk That Settles continued, ‘Lodges made to seem like solid stone or patches of ground, like traps made for men of the Other People. He has built many such in the burial ground.’

  Sky Buffalo coughed wisely.

  ‘Some of these spirit objects make noises like animals or men wounded in battle,’ Hawk That Settles said, remembering with a spearthrust of fear the horrible yammering he had heard.

  ‘These things are troubling,’ Sky Buffalo said; hardly great wisdom. ‘There is a great disturbance in the Ghost Lands.’

  That also was something Hawk That Settles could have told the shaman. Every child of the People knew the Ghost Lands met the World Around like one track crossing another, and that sometimes objects were found at the crossings of the paths. The more spirit objects migrated to the World Around, the more disturbance there was in the Ghost Lands.

  ‘You must carry me to the burial ground, Hawk.’

  The young man had been afraid of that. With no complaint, he turned his broad back so the shaman could climb upon it, arms around his neck, knees gripping his waist.

  As he stood, Hawk That Settles grunted. The old man was surprisingly heavy, as if his breechclout were stuffed with stones.

  ‘You have often thought of carrying me to the burial ground,’ Sky Buffalo said, not chuckling. ‘Those who make fervent wishes often regret them.’

  Hunched over like an old man himself, Hawk That Settles walked towards the lodges of the People.

  * * *

  In seasons at the old encampment, the young men of the People hunted game and made war on the Other People. As brothers, they honoured the dead with the songs of their fathers.

  Hawk That Settles and Two Dogs Dying were born of the same woman. In their time, they fathered babies for women of their generation. When Spotted Water birthed twins, one resembled Hawk That Settles, the other Two Dogs Dying. Among the People, such things were without strife. No man claimed ownership over a woman or a child, just as none thought to keep for himself a particularly sturdy spear or sharp knife. If there was water enough to quench the thirst of all or fire enough for the warmth of all, why should any hoard such things for his special comfort? ‘We are not the Other People,’ the fathers said as the sons learned, ‘and that is the strength of our spirit. No thing or person is slave to us, as we are not slaves to any thing or person. This is the path of the True People and it is as it should be.’

  Then they made the encampment by the river. It was a site with good game, plentiful water and many trees. Hawk That Settles wondered why the Other People had not claimed it in earlier seasons. There was no trace of past encampment; thick grass grew where no fires had ever been set, unscarred trees grew tall, deer did not flee the approach of a hunter. The land was fresh.

  The Peop
le cut down trees and made lodges. Fires were set and songs were sung. From that day, the place was the encampment of the People. If the Other People came for it, they would be met with arrows. The place by the river would be good for many seasons, maybe for all the seasons of Hawk That Settles and Two Dogs Dying. Maybe for all the seasons of the sons of Spotted Water.

  That was before the trouble in the Ghost Lands.

  From boyhood, Two Dogs Dying was drawn to the dead. He made himself a bonnet like that of Horn Knife, the Custodian of the old burial ground. He helped Horn Knife through his dying days, chosen by the old man to end his uselessness with a loving thrust. When Horn Knife joined those whose path to the Ghost Lands he had eased, Two Dogs Dying led the song.

  When an encampment was built, a sacred area, somewhat removed from the lodges, was set aside for the dead. By tradition, it was first chosen and last prepared. During the days of building, a tree fell on Angry Bear. The crushed body was tethered in the fast-flowing waters until, after the day of dedication, Two Dogs Dying could sing the song of Angry Bear. He carried the cold corpse to a bier fashioned of branches and stones and laid Angry Bear out. The young man lay with a war bonnet on his head and an axe in his hand, lest he encounter the spirit of the murderous tree in the Ghost Lands.

  It was a considerable thing to be Custodian of the burial ground. Hawk That Settles was glad his brother should rise to such a position and was less saddened now when one of his brothers was killed in battle or by sickness. Two Dogs Dying would see to the care of their spirits. The sign of a good Custodian was that he could open the throat of an unwanted girl baby or an old person whose song was sung with honour and respect. Never did any such cry out under the keen knife Two Dogs Dying wore on his belt, the knife which had been passed to him by Horn Knife himself.

  After a season marked by an outbreak of the coughing sickness and skirmishes with the Other People, the burial ground was properly settled and Angry Bear’s spirit did not walk alone in the Ghost Lands.

  * * *

  Though it was difficult to talk under the weight of Sky Buffalo, Hawk That Settles, at the shaman’s insistence, told again of Two Dogs Dying and the burial ground. He was ashamed to remember fear, certain the shaman must notice his prickling skin and chilled sweat. Hawk That Settles was brave in battle and the hunt but trouble in the Ghost Lands frightened him.

  He first realised something was wrong when, after bringing two deer to the fires after a day’s hunting, he had a yen to take pleasure with Spotted Water. She must be ready to swell with child again, having birthed three weeks ago – a girl, but these things happen – and Hawk That Settles always found her enthusiasm for coupling most stimulating.

  With a leg of cooked deer, he called on the women’s lodge and was told Spotted Water was in the burial ground with Two Dogs Dying. Not thinking to be disappointed, he presented the greasy meat to Red Doe. Only after they had coupled did Red Doe tell of the strange behaviour of Two Dogs Dying and Spotted Water.

  It seemed that two days earlier, Two Dogs Dying visited the women’s lodge and bore Spotted Water away. Hawk That Settles’s first thought was to grin at his brother’s appetite: any man who could couple for two days without tiring was worthy of his own song. Then Red Doe told him Two Dogs Dying had also taken Spotted Water’s children, the twin sons and even the infant daughter. She said Two Dogs Dying had built his own little lodge, like the lodges of the dying, and lived there alone, with only Spotted Water and her children about him. As Red Doe said such an unthinkable thing, Hawk That Settles realised he had indeed not recently seen his brother in the men’s lodge.

  Among the People were men who chose to live in the women’s lodge, offering themselves for the pleasure of other men. Hawk That Settles had, for the experience, pleasured with several and, while confirming his preference for women who might bear sons, had to concede such couplings were not unenjoyable. Hawk That Settles and Two Dogs Dying had shared pleasure of live goats and killed deer, for such was the right of the hunter.

  Hawk That Settles thought himself untethered by the ways of the People; he accepted what was good of the wisdom of the fathers but did not let tradition bind him to stupidity. Yet, he could not but feel disgust at the perversion of which Red Doe accused his brother.

  Unable to believe Red Doe more than a lying gossip, he took a green stick and beat her. To suggest Two Dogs Dying might hide Spotted Water away for himself, that he might wish to hoard her children as a bear hoards food, was an obscenity he would not believe. If Red Doe repeated such lies, he would cut out her tongue.

  Thinking of it made Hawk That Settles sick. One man, one woman, children! Yet, Two Dogs Dying and Spotted Water were gone from the lodges. And the children of Spotted Water too.

  He must go to the burial ground and see his brother. Two Dogs Dying must be told of the lies before Red Doe spread them further.

  * * *

  Sky Buffalo clucked as if the story were familiar. To the fathers, no land was ever fresh. The warrior of the Other People killed in battle by Rock Garden was hardly as fearsome as a warrior of the days of the fathers’ fathers. The bear bested by the young men was considerably less ferocious than the long-ago bear whose skin, visibly smaller than the fresh skin, decorated the lodge. The flock of pigeons which filled the skies for three days was a passing cloud set against the great mass of wings which brought darkness for a whole season in the days of the fathers of the fathers’ fathers. This trouble in the Ghost Lands was meagre compared with the Great Trouble of many seasons gone. Each time the shaman clucked, Hawk That Settles had a yen to pitch him into the river, yet he continued with the story of Two Dogs Dying.

  * * *

  Red Doe had not lied about the lodge Two Dogs Dying had built. She had not even told the worst of it. The burial ground was covered with strange little lodges. All the biers were under lodges, the dead improperly covered from the skies. The spirit of Horn Knife must wail in the Ghost Lands. The lodges were identical boxes, arranged in a disturbingly regular pattern. Around the boxes were barriers, too low to keep away animals or enemies, interrupted by neat gaps and beaten paths. Lodges filled the burial ground; they seemed to spread across the world, crowding out everything else.

  Hawk That Settles felt spirit presences. Not the natural spirits he had known all his life, but pale cloth-wrapped ghosts. If he shut his eyes, he saw their shadows moving awkwardly like wounded men. Alone in sunshine, he wanted to return to the men’s lodge and speak no more of Two Dogs Dying. But the Custodian was his brother, as were all the young men of the People; it was his duty to watch his brothers’ backs in battle, and there was a great spirit battle in this place.

  He knew which was the lodge of Two Dogs Dying; it was more finished than the others, the thing itself rather than an image. The path was more elaborate, the barrier less flimsy. Enclosed grass was shaved as close to the earth as the men of the Other People shaved their hair to the skin. There was a doorway; wood hung over it, like the boards which kept out snows in winter or the Other People in attacks. He could not imagine why a man would make such a thing in summer at a time of peace. When he touched the wood, fixed to the doorway by strips of leather, it swung inward. The arrangement was ingenious if peculiarly repulsive.

  Stepping into the lodge, he was assaulted by a horrible yammering. He drew a knife, prepared to fight the evil ghost that had maddened his brother.

  No attack came, but the noise continued.

  There was a box in one corner, making the noise. Bright lights burned on its face, hurting his eyes. The box sang the song of a young girl taking pleasure for the very first time. Knowing the object to be unnatural, Hawk That Settles killed it.

  Another doorway was before him. He knew evil was here, for the inside of the lodge was much smaller than the outside. Pale spirits had lured him in, now walls were contracting to crush him. He began the song of his dying.

  The situation was stranger even than that. The walls were not moving; inside the lodge were divisions, w
alls between poles, splitting space into smaller spaces. For a moment, such an arrangement made sense: young men need not be troubled by the nightnoises of the old, food might be stored away from hungry animals. Then, laughing, Hawk That Settles realised how impractical this truly was. With no centre, the lodge could have no fire; without a fire, a lodge was just a cave of wood, not a fit place for People.

  He shoved aside the barrier and passed into an area walled by stout, defensible barricades. It was a lodge with no roof. Above was unclouded sky. Two Dogs Dying stood by an unnatural fire, grinning as he manipulated hunks of cooking meat with a short spear, singing an unfamiliar song of yellow ribbons and old trees. Clearly an evil thing, it was an obscene chant. The fire was elevated in a dish of black stuff. There was too little smoke for the meat to be healthy.

  Spotted Water was nearby, body indecently covered. Confining hides were uncomfortably taut about her, as if she had been sewn into a wet leather shroud and left in the sun. She was tethered like a dog, a rope about her ankle fixed to a stake hammered into hard earth. Her children clung to her, too frightened to speak.

  ‘Hawk,’ Two Dogs Dying said, smiling, ‘good to see you, brother. Just in time for food.’

  Hawk That Settles cringed.

  ‘BeBeCue?’ Two Dogs Dying asked, licking his lips and prodding meat.

  The Custodian had mutilated and adorned himself. His hair was hacked short and the rings were gone from his nose and nipples. He wore a strange apparatus of twigs around his eyes, over his nose and hooked onto his ears. Instead of the breechclout and paint of the People, he wore skins sewn together, like those he had forced upon Spotted Water. His arms and legs were trapped in tubes of soft leather. His bonnet had a bill like a duck’s and an evil totem: a grinning rat with black circular ears.