Nothing touched us. Despite seeing the sheets of rain ripple across the flat plain and hearing the hissing roar of the storm, we remained dry.
The cracked earth turned dark as it greedily drank in the moisture. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun and the sun came out again. All around us the ground became soft and rich.
A second package appeared in front of the fox. This one was a tube. It unrolled and revealed a seed shaped like a cruel thorn. The leather roll disappeared and the seed sank slowly into the ground like a stone through mud. A sapling sprouted and grew until it took the shape of a man with Leon’s face. Prime.
All around us more saplings began to grow. Just a few at first, but their numbers doubled and doubled again, until they stretched to the horizon. Each became a crude stick man, half the size of the one with Leon’s face.
Bloody bones of all shapes and sizes began to appear in the hands of the stick men. Each was passed from wooden hand to wooden hand until they reached Prime, who then stacked them at his feet, carefully arranging them into a huge mound. When it was completed, Prime opened his hand to reveal a brilliant green pinpoint of light. It jumped from his palm into the mass of bones.
The stick men vanished. Prime vanished. Only the bones remained. The sun overhead plummeted downward, past the horizon, and smothered us in darkness once again. Alone with the fox and the heap of bloody bones. The mound trembled and rocked as though something inside were struggling to get free.
The fox yawned, pink tongue curling towards the roof of its mouth. We were back in the woods, bathed in the blue-green light of the wisps overhead.
Instead of a fox, there was now a man seated on the log. His face was covered by an African tribal mask, carved from wood with dried grass hanging from the sides like long strands of hair. Several spiders were carved into the mask on the forehead and cheeks. The man was naked except for the mask and a loincloth. His exposed skin was black and his chest was painted with the outline of a huge white spider.
From behind the mask, the man said, “Once upon a time, gods walked under the sun and the moon. Great and small, terrible and beautiful, they covered the world, creating a savage paradise for their kind. They had dominion over all of the plants and all of the animals save one. Man.”
I blinked and the man was gone. In his place sat a Native American wearing a headdress of fur that covered his head and draped down across his shoulders. The headdress was the skin of a coyote, with the empty muzzle hanging low over his forehead and nose.
“Man was different than all of the other animals. Where man gathered, the light that sustained the gods waned, making them weak and ill. So the gods sought to get rid of man by many different means, both subtle and cruel. But one god was not like the others and found that he alone was not weakened in man’s presence. And this god, who was the most clever of them all, secretly began to teach man to thrive instead of withering under the gaze of the gods. As man spread over the face of the land, the clever god found shelter from the other gods in man’s shadow. Outraged by man’s encroachment, the strongest gods summoned the clever one, not knowing that he worked against them, but only that he could walk among mankind without sickness.”
In place of the man sat an Asian woman wearing a robe of fox fur, the skin around her eyes painted red and her lips painted white. The collar of the robe was made of nine fox tails that fell in a cascade down her back and across her shoulders.
“The other gods were mightier than the clever one and so held his life in their hands. They told him that the tide of man was now too great to stop and that they would soon be forced to slumber as man destroyed that which sustained them. But they had a plan, which they thought very sly. They would give the little god a sack of terrible things, and when only he was left awake, he would go among mankind and find those whose hearts hungered to use them. And in using them, man would sow his own destruction. Though he did not want to, the clever god was bound by his word and more than his word, and so he did as they wished.
“For many seasons he walked among men and watched them as they grew in power and numbers. They built grand cities and raised vast armies, and when the god saw this, he knew his time was near, for war breeds hatred and desperation enough to twist the hearts of men into shapes that were of use to him. And he began bestowing gifts from the sack he had been given. But time and again the men he chose failed to understand the gifts, or understanding them, refused to use them. Many years passed as he toiled without success and in his secret heart he was glad. Until a great war came and a man was found who understood his gift and embraced it. And his gift was the most terrible of all.
“In their desperation and their hatred, his masters had added it to the sack, but he knew that they had been foolish to do so, for neither man nor god would be safe from what it would bring. But he had no choice. When he found a heart that called a gift in the sack, he was compelled to draw it forth. And so the end of everything loomed nigh. But he was clever by nature, and so he found another man, a hunter who could be drawn to the right place at the right time, and who would spoil the gift before it could be used. And he did. Almost. The world was spared, but something happened that none of the gods had foreseen. Before the gift could be destroyed it tore a hole in the sky into another place. A place filled with magic, the sustenance of the gods. And that magic rained down on the parched earth and made it fertile once more. It fell in a great deluge and for the first time in centuries, mankind’s numbers were no match for it.
“The world began to wake. The clever god was afraid that his master’s plans had succeeded and that his shelter in mankind’s shadow was soon to come to an end. Worse, he still carried the cursed sack and before he could think of what to do, another heart called out for a gift, which he was forced to give. So he did the only thing he could and returned to the hunter that had served him well before. And he hoped that the hunter could rescue them both before it was too late.”
My mouth was dry and my heart was racing. “How does the hunter rescue them?”
The woman who was also a fox smiled very slightly. “He finds the Heart of the Forest. All who seek it must begin at dawn. The wooden man has woken the forest, but he must not possess its Heart.”
“Where is it?”
“That’s all of the story that there is, Hunter. Be clever. Be swift. The forest will test all of those who attempt to win the Heart.”
“And if I fail?”
But there was no one left to answer. Only the flash of a fox’s tail as it disappeared into the woods.
29
Henry was sitting in a lawn chair in his yard when we got back, notepad in one hand and shotgun across his lap.
I waved at him as we stepped out of the woods. “See any more lights?”
“Nope. Been quiet since you left.”
Chuck said, “How about a sunrise in the middle of the night? Did you see that?”
“Can’t say that I did.”
“Well, we saw it. That and a whole bunch of other stuff that didn’t make a goddamn bit of sense.”
I told Henry what happened. He took notes in his pad as I talked and let me finish before he spoke.
“Spider, fox, and coyote, eh? Was there fire?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Not unless you count the wisps as a kind of fire, why?”
“Just curious. Looks like whatever you encountered is claiming the identity of a Trickster god. Most cultures have a similar figure. The Africans have Anansi, who is a spider, the native Americans have Coyote, and the Japanese have Kitsune who is a fox spirit that often fills the same role. The Trickster does many things, but one of the common threads is that it helps mankind. For example, in the Greek legend of Prometheus, he steals fire from the gods and gives it to man against their wishes. Of course, it’s possible that this entity was simply taking on the role in order to gain our cooperation, so be careful.”
Chuck snorted. “Thanks for the advice, Professor. Because being lured out to the middle of
the woods to meet a magic spirit didn’t trigger enough alarm bells. Hell, if you hadn’t said anything, I was going to invite the sonofabitch back for a beer. Christ.”
Henry continued as if Chuck hadn’t spoken, a skill that most people that hang around Chuck seem to pick up sooner rather than later. “So, the entity claims that these packages are a last ditch effort by older, more powerful creatures to eradicate as much of humanity as possible so that they can return. That means we’re going to have to assume that whatever Prime is trying to accomplish, it’s going to be fairly catastrophic.”
“We figured as much already,” I said. “But now we know that whatever Prime is up to, he’s not ready to finish it yet. He needs the Heart of the Forest, whatever that is, and he can’t start looking for it until dawn.”
Henry nodded. “That’s good, because we summoned Prime about twenty-four hours ago, and no one has gotten any sleep since.”
Dammit. I should have realized that. I looked around at everyone’s bleary eyes and drawn faces. They would have let me run them into the ground and never said a word.
“That’s a good point. Let’s get back to the house. I’ll keep an eye out until morning and you guys can get some rest.”
Nobody protested giving up the search for Prime, which said a lot about how tired they must have been. I carried Henry’s chair as we walked back to the house.
About fifty yards away, I held up my hand for everyone to stop. It was too dark for the others to see at this distance, but to me it was clear as day. There was something on the gravel drive in front of the steps.
I drew Hunger and crept forward. The gravel had been disturbed in a circle about ten feet across, and there was a round object in the center, like an upside-down bowl. When I got close enough to see what it was, fear knotted my stomach. I gestured for the others to approach.
Long wavy lines had been drawn in the gravel, layered over and under each other in an undulating pattern radiating out from the center. Like worms or tentacles.
Anne gasped when she saw it. “Oh my God. Georgia’s ceiling.”
Images of Georgia Eaton’s bedroom came to me unbidden. The urine soaked mattress. The single candle. And the worms etched from ceiling to floor in a vast undulating mass.
Up close I could see that the object in the center of the pattern was the top of a creature’s skull. The thing from the cemetery who’s head I had sheared in half with Hunger. All of the flesh had been carefully scraped off until the skull itself was picked clean, leaving only empty eye sockets and the upper fangs. The worms radiated out from the skull’s mouth.
“Abe.” Anne touched me on the arm, then pointed at the side of the house.
As I watched, an Eater of the Dead came slowly around the corner, head low to the ground as it moved forward. Its white skin gleamed in the moonlight, clearly showing the bunched muscles flexing underneath. It made no sound as it approached, the black talons at the end of every limb sinking silently into the lawn as it moved.
“Don’t shoot,” I whispered.
“Are you serious?” hissed Chuck. “Look at it!”
“I am. It’s moving slowly and carefully. I think it’s trying to be non-threatening.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
He had a point. Looking at the massive curved fangs protruding from its lipless mouth didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. It didn’t help that the thing was the size of a small pony. But so far it seemed peaceful enough.
We backed up a few feet as it approached the pattern in the gravel. It stopped at the edge of the design and then very carefully traced one of the lines with one wickedly sharp talon. Then it looked at me with its strange black eyes.
I gestured at the pattern. “You made this?”
It didn’t answer, but instead faced me and then slowly bent forward, curling its front legs inward and tucking its chin to its chest until its forehead touched the ground.
It was bowing to me. I approached until I was close enough to touch it, then carefully placed one hand on its shoulder. The flesh was cold and clammy, like that of a frog. It blew out air in a foul smelling chuff and then backed away from me. After one more long look, it turned around and trotted away, silent as a shadow.
30
I sat on the porch steps for the rest of the night. It was cold and clear and quiet and in spite of the everything going on, I felt at peace. My eyes traced the carefully inscribed pattern around the Eater skull and wondered how long it had taken to sketch out.
I imagined the Eater hunched over, drawing and shuffling, drawing and shuffling, as it circled the pattern it was so painstakingly creating. I wondered if it had been worried about finishing before I returned or hopeful about my reaction when I saw it.
The memory of it prostrate at my feet made me uncomfortable, but also strangely pleased, as did the makeshift shrine itself. I realized that I didn’t want to see it disturbed. Then I wondered if the reason that I had been sitting next to it all night was because it comforted me somehow. I hoped not.
About an hour before sunrise I went into the house and started breakfast. We had missed supper the night before, and there was a good chance of missing lunch today as well, so I cooked pretty much all the breakfast food in the kitchen. A dozen eggs, pancakes, grits, bacon, and a pot of coffee. The smell brought everyone to the kitchen before I was done, shuffling and haggard after only a few hours of rest. I almost asked where Leon was before I remembered.
As we ate, I couldn’t help but notice that Chuck kept staring at me. I finally put down my fork and look at him. “What?”
“Am I the only person here who has never seen a man eat ten pancakes, two bowls of grits, five eggs and a pound of bacon before? It’s like a circus act or some kind of magic trick. It ain’t normal, dude.”
I froze. All of the effort I had made, keeping my meals in public normal while sneaking in extra food at night, may have just been wasted.
I tried to laugh it off. “You know I treat my body like a temple. In this case, it happens to be the temple of an ancient evil god who loves pancakes.”
I put a huge mouthful of pancakes in my face and made yummy noises.
“I guess. As long as we don’t need to tie you to the bed to keep you from eating until you explode.”
The pancakes stuck in my throat and I put the fork down with a shudder. I hadn’t really thought about my new appetite in terms of Greg’s wife, Valerie, but now that Chuck had pointed it out, the similarities were obvious.
But I wasn’t that far gone yet. Except for this one lapse, I was managing things pretty well. Valerie couldn’t keep it under control because she didn’t want to. That’s where we were different. She was willing to give up her humanity to get what she wanted and I wasn’t.
“No need for that. I’m about done, anyway.” I pushed the plate away. “I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready to go.”
Ten minutes later they came out of the kitchen as a group and together we headed across the lawn to the tree line. Nobody mentioned breakfast, for which I was grateful.
The woods had grown out to the point of being lush and the crowded canopy was much higher and thicker than I had ever seen it before. Strange sounds bounced between the trees, much more suitable to a primeval jungle than a small stand of pines and birch in North Carolina.
It was still a few minutes until dawn, so Henry set his chair down and got settled with a book and his shotgun.
I hoped that something would happen when the sun rose, otherwise I had no idea where to go from here.
Rosy pink light slowly leaked from the horizon, a slowly growing stain on the gray-blue sky. The horizon was hidden by the trees in front of us, but I would bet money that I could tell you the exact moment that the sun touched it.
The ground between two of the larger trees in front of us sagged and fell in, leaving a gaping hole between the trunks. The fox bounded out of the hole and darted away into the woods.
Henry gestured at the darkness with his
shotgun. “Good luck.”
31
“You have got to be shitting me,” said Chuck.
I peered down into the hole. It was about fifteen feet deep with a tunnel in the side facing the woods. “Feel free to stay behind.”
I jumped down. The ground was a hard mix of clay and rock and the air was musty and stale. “We’re going to need some flashlights from the workshop.”
Anne peered down at me, her hair hanging past her face and obscuring her features. “Be right back.”
A few minutes later, the feet of Henry’s aluminum ladder appeared over the edge of the hole. I grabbed the bottom and held it steady while Anne and Chuck climbed down to join me.
She handed me a light, but I declined. “I can see pretty well in the dark. As long as one of these lights are on, I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, flicking on her flashlight and pointing it down the tunnel. It continued well past the reach of the beam. Roots dangling from the ceiling caught the light as she panned it back and forth, standing out starkly against the darkness. “After you.”
I resisted the urge to duck as I entered the tunnel. The sides were covered in wet roots, some hanging in shaggy, tangled sheets and others thick and wormlike, weaving in and out of the walls.
We followed the gently sloping tunnel down into the earth for several hundred yards until it dumped us out into a small cavern. Ours wasn’t the only one. At least a dozen other tunnel exits lined the walls. Each tunnel mouth was a ragged opening in the clay wall, except for one on the other side of the room.
That one was shaped like a peaked arch with edges made of entwined roots that crossed and re-crossed over each other in an elaborate weave. It was also twenty feet tall and at least ten feet wide.
Anne gasped as she stepped into the room, her flashlight pointed straight up. Above us glittered thousands of crystal stalactites, each no thicker than a pencil. Water drops flashed in the beam of light as they fell from the tips in a slow, lazy rain.
Liar's Harvest (The Emergent Earth) Page 11