The Girl Clay

by Amy Cross

  “Come,” Nathaniel continues, reaching down to take my hand. “The time is so very nearly upon us.”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Don't fight it.”

  “This is insane.” I take a step back, only for Debbie to push me forward again.

  “See her modesty?” Nathaniel asks, turning to the crowd. “Attaroth told me in a vision that Clay would be reluctant to accept her position. He said she might even try to disrupt things, since a true prophet often has trouble understanding when the moment of ascension has arrived.”

  “Liar!” I shout.

  “Clay -”

  “There's poison in those lockets!” I continue, stepping toward the crowd. Scanning the sea of faces, I spot a few children near the back. “What the hell are you people -”

  Before I can finish, I'm pulled to one side and I feel something cold and metallic being clamped to my wrists. I try to twist free, but several of the Kenseths' acolytes are holding me down now and I'm powerless to resist as they fix a set of manacles to my wrists, with a thick chain running between them. As I try once again to push them away, I'm lifted up and shoved onto the stage with enough force to send me stumbling forward until I drop to my knees. I'm about to get to my feet when I feel a set of hands on my shoulders, and then someone grabs my head and tilts it back until I'm staring up at the stars.

  “Do you sense him yet?” Nathaniel asks from behind me. “Do you see Attaroth? You'll see him before we do, Clay. You're attuned to his nature.”

  “There's nothing there,” I say firmly. “There's never going to be anything there!”

  “You deny Attaroth?”

  “I know he's real, but -”

  “Praise Attaroth!” the cult-members shout.

  “You're insane!” I yell, trying to get to my feet before I'm forced back down. Turning to look across the stage, I spot old Jacob Kenseth sitting in his wheelchair, staring at me with his customary expression of leering intensity. For all the talk of time passing and forgiveness, I don't believe for a second that he's changed, and the sight of him sends a shiver of revulsion and hatred through my body.

  “Attaroth is coming,” Nathaniel whispers.

  “Go to hell,” I reply, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on Jacob.

  “My father made mistakes last time,” Nathaniel continues, “and he displeased Attaroth. This time, the stage is set perfectly.”

  Shaking my head, I look up at him. I'm about to tell him to go to hell again, but suddenly I spot something in the sky behind him: there's a kind of yellowy-green light up there, shimmering in the darkness, as if it's starting to rain down from above. I stare, convinced that somehow I must be imagining the whole thing or that maybe there's still some kind of drug in my system, but as the light grows I start to realize that maybe this actually is Attaroth's way of announcing his arrival. I guess I should have realized that he'd want to put on a light-show.

  “No,” I whisper, “don't do this...”

  “He's coming!” shouts someone from the crowd.

  The rest of them cry out as one: “Praise Attaroth!”

  “Praise Attaroth!” Nathaniel shouts, as the lights become ever brighter. “He's ready to take us now. All that remains is for everyone to drink so that we can leave our bodies behind.”

  For a moment, I'm transfixed by the sight of the light as it dances above us in a kind of halo formation. The whole thing looks like the Northern Lights on speed, and I'm half-expecting to see Attaroth's smiling face come spinning down straight toward us. After a few seconds, realizing that I've heard nothing from any of the others, I turn and see that everyone in the crowd is staring up, and they all have their lockets in their hands. Just as I'm about to tell them to stop, and to make sure that they don't drink, I see that all the lockets are already open.

  “No!” I shout, lunging forward before a hand pulls me back.

  Turning, I see Nathaniel standing above me with a smile on his face.

  “Attaroth is here,” he says calmly.

  “You're all going to die!” I shout. “What the hell does he gain from any of this?”

  “Our role is not to question Attaroth,” he replies, “but to obey him. The followers have all begun the process of freeing their spirits from their bodies, and soon we'll do the same. The soul must become unstuck from the meat.”

  “You're insane,” I tell him. Spotting his locket unopened around his neck, I turn to his father and see the same thing. “You haven't done it,” I whisper, stunned that yet again the Kenseths seem to be exempting themselves from the sacrifices that everyone else is required to make. “You made all those people drink, but you're holding back!”

  “Attaroth wants us to remain behind for a short while,” Nathaniel explains.

  “Again?” I shout, getting to my feet and making my way over to Jacob. “You pulled this stunt last time too! What's wrong, are you scared?”

  “Attaroth commands it,” he replies.

  “Attaroth commands cowardice?” I ask. “He commands mass-murder? What kind of a god gets his kicks from having people gather in a field and commit suicide?”

  “This kind of god,” says a voice nearby.

  Turning, I see to my horror that Attaroth himself is standing on the far side of the stage. His body shimmers for a moment, as if it's filled with the same light that's hovering above us.

  “Praise Attaroth!” Nathaniel shouts, dropping to his knees and lowering his head. He continues to mutter something to himself, as if he's reciting some kind of prayer.

  “Absolutely,” Attaroth replies, as the lights in the sky start to twitch and spark, “praise me. It's not essential to the operation, but it sure as hell gives me a kick. I mean, everyone likes to be praised, don't they? It's been a while since I received my due.”

  “Is this what you wanted?” I ask, making my way toward him. “You wanted more people to die in your name? I thought you said it all went wrong last time? You told me the siege at Rover's Ridge dragged your name through the mud!”

  “Last time I didn't realize what I could achieve,” he replies. “I had some ideas, of course, but I was hopelessly unambitious. I was basically copying all the other gods. This time around, however, I've really got my eyes on the prize. You've shown me the way, Clay, and so have these idiots.” He walks over to Nathaniel Kenseth and looks down at him. “It amazes me that men of such limited intelligence and doubtful charm were able, twice, to gather people together and inspire them to kill themselves in the name of a god they'd never heard of before. Look, Clay. Look what men can do to one another.”

  Following his gaze, I look out at the crowd and see to my horror that they've all collapsed. Some are clutching at their necks and struggling for breath, but most of them look to be already dead. I want to rush out and help them, but I know it's too late and besides, I wouldn't even know where to start. Even the children look to have passed already. For the second time in my life, I'm right in the middle of a mass suicide.

  “I...” I start to say, my voice trembling with sorrow as tears well in my eyes. “This can't be happening again...”

  “Gods can only achieve certain things,” Attaroth continues with a smile. “I was always so focused on extending my powers, I never stopped to think that maybe there are other things, worthwhile things, that only men can achieve.” Walking back over to Nathaniel Kenseth, he places a hand on the man's juddering shoulder. “Imagine, Clay. Imagine my great wisdom in something as fragile and temporary as a human form. If I could pour myself into one of these things...” He pauses for a moment. “I used to think that only a god could rule this pathetic little planet, but now I realize the truth. A god can never manage the job. Only a man can truly rule other men.”

  “So you want to turn him into your representative down here?” I ask, shocked by the idea. “You think you can use Nathaniel Kenseth as a puppet?”

  “Nothing so indirect,” he replies, leaning down as if he's about to kiss the top of Nathaniel's head. “When I like somethi
ng, Clay, I take it. I thought you knew that about me already.” Above, the lights seem to be dancing more erratically than ever, as if they're building up to something. “All these idiots thought they'd ascend to my level of existence, but really... really it's going to be the other way around.”

  “But -”

  Before I can finish, the halo of light descends further from the sky until it begins to touch the stage. I fall back as light crackles and fizzes in the air all around us. For a moment, arcs of lightning dance across the stage, as if a whole new reality is trying to break through. Getting to my feet, I realize I can hear voices all around me, and I recognize some of them from all those years ago: there's Beatrice, and Hope, and Martha and Lucy and... As the crescendo grows and lightning continues to strike the stage, I realize my mother's voice is in the mix, calling out to me from wherever she went after she died. It's almost as if -

  Suddenly there's a blast of light and I'm knocked back. Tumbling off the edge of the stage, I land hard on the grass and roll to one side. Behind me, more bolts of lightning are striking the stage, sending up huge showers of sparks. Just as it seems that the whole world might be consumed, however, one final explosion rips through the stage, shaking the ground all around me and knocking me back down.

  And then silence.

  I take a deep breath as I slowly get to my feet. Turning to look at the ruined stage, I realize that most of it has been destroyed, save for a few remaining sections that are quietly burning. Attaroth is nowhere to be seen, but Nathaniel Kenseth is slowly getting to his feet. He stumbles a couple of times, as if his legs are buckling under his weight, before finally he's able to more or less stand. Looking around, he seems shocked for a moment, and then he looks up at the sky, where the vast lights are already starting to fade.

  “Where did he go?” I shout, looking around in all directions. “Attaroth! Where are you?”

  “I'm right here.”

  Turning, I see that Nathaniel is staring at me with a smile. My blood starts to run cold as I realize that the smile is familiar: I've seen it many times on Attaroth, and yet now it has somehow become a part of Nathaniel's face.

  “So this is what it feels like to be made of flesh and blood,” he continues, using Nathaniel's voice but with his own unique inflections. He runs his hands across his chest and then up to examine his own face. “I can feel the heart pumping in my chest. What a strange and wonderful sensation. How can you possibly stand to exist like this, Clay? I -”

  He pauses for a moment.

  “Breathing is difficult,” he adds. “Do you have to think about it all the time, or does it eventually become a habit? There's so much going on in a human body at once, it's hard to keep it all synchronized. No wonder humans struggle so much with the bigger things in life, they have to keep such complex flesh-machines running. I'm learning so much already.” He takes a series of deep breaths. “That's weird. It's quite calming, though.”

  “This isn't real,” I whisper. “I've finally lost my mind.”

  “Relax,” he replies, stepping toward me. “This is going to open up a whole lot of new possibilities, Clay. Now that I have a mortal body, I can start to really understand the human mind. All the aspects of humanity that I used to think were a weakness are now a strength.” Stopping as he reaches me, he holds up his hands and flexes them for a moment, as if he's getting used to the idea of a physical body. “Now,” he adds finally, “aren't you going to welcome me properly to this new plane of existence? Come on, Clay. I do hope you'll give me my first kiss.”

  PART EIGHT

  Ten years ago

  “Do you see now?” he whispers. “You can't escape me. Even death isn't enough.”

  Opening my eyes, I find myself staring up at the most beautiful blue sky. For a fraction of a second I can't remember anything else, until suddenly I hear the screeching of the train's brakes as it tried in vain to stop, and then I hear the sound of my bones crunching under the wheels.

  “No!” I shout, sitting up and finding myself on the grass in a field outside the city. Turning, I see Attaroth standing behind me.

  “In case you're wondering,” he says with a smile, “you did die back there, Clay. That train smeared you along the tracks, and those poor workmen... Well, some of them vomited, and some of them just stood around looking hopelessly lost, as if they couldn't believe the horror they'd just witnessed. Either way, you certainly made an impression. I almost feel sorry for the poor soul whose job it is to clean up what's left of you, not to mention the police officer who'll undoubtedly try and fail to identify your remains.”

  He walks around me.

  “And now you're here. You've woken up again with your body back in one piece. How does it feel?”

  Getting to my feet, I look at the city in the distance. It looks so far away and yet, at the same time, so very close.

  “Are you starting to understand now?” Attaroth asks. “There is nothing you can do and nowhere you can run, because I will find you wherever you go. If you try to go to other people for help, you'll just bring untold misery to them.”

  Taking a step back, I consider running for a moment, before realizing that there's no point. I keep replaying the moment with the train over and over, remembering how it felt to have my body crushed, and the thought of that ever happening again is sickening. Even worse, the men who saw me die must be traumatized.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask finally, even though I'm terrified of the answer.

  “I'm going to do what I do with every human I encounter. I'm going to use you to further my own plans.” He takes a step toward me. “That's all humans are good for, Clay. You really are a pathetically weak species, but you...” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I've waited so long for a worthy disciple.”

  Today

  “I used to be such a fool,” Attaroth says as he walks among the dead bodies that litter the grass in front of the burning stage. “Even gods can make mistakes, you know, or at least have their judgment clouded. I thought humans were weak, something to be pitied, but now...”

  Stopping, he turns to me.

  “Throughout history, gods have sought people to worship them. I'm not afraid to admit that I'm the same, Clay. I had some success in the early days, but somehow I knew deep down that things needed to change. I withdrew, I became more playful, I attached no great importance to the trivialities of human existence, but now I realize that there's a limit to a god's power. In order to exercise true control on this desperate little planet, one must step down and actually become a man. Don't you think that's a little ironic?”

  Staring at him, I realize that I still don't quite understand the depths of his insanity. All this time, I thought he was planning to take the souls of men and women up to some higher level of existence, but now it turns out that he's doing the opposite: he's coming down here among us, and he seems determined to lead as many men as possible.

  “Help me,” a voice whispers nearby.

  Turning, I see that Jacob Kenseth is still in his wheelchair, struggling with old, arthritic fingers to open the locket around his neck. His chair must have been blown from the stage, and now he's on his side in the grass.

  “Please,” he continues, “I want to go with them.”

  “How can you ignore such a desperate plight?” Attaroth asks. “Help the old man, Clay.”

  “I'm not going to help him,” I tell him. “Are you serious?”

  “You always help people,” he continues. “You even help the man who shot you in the head. You go and take care of him, you procure drugs to help with his pain. Why bother, Clay?”

  “He has no-one else,” I reply, turning to him.

  “And you have no-one else either, do you?” He smiles. “Is that why you go and help Aaron Jones? To prove to yourself that you can still make someone's life better?”

  Jacob lets out a gasp of frustration as the locket slips from his grasp. Turning to watch him, I realize that despite all his crimes in the past, now he'
s just a pathetic old man. His hands are so swollen and bulbous, with thick purple veins almost poking out of his skin, it's not hard to imagine the agony he's enduring as he tries in vain to open his little capsule of poison.

  Good.

  After everything he did to me and to the other people here ten years ago, he deserves all the pain in the world.

  “Help me!” he splutters, with tears rolling down his cheeks as he tries again to get the locket open. It's hopeless, though: I can already see that there's no way he can unscrew the lid.

  “Do you really want to die?” I ask, walking over to him.

  “I want to ascend like the rest of them.”

  “You never believed that crap,” I reply. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Attaroth – in Nathaniel's body – is still looking at all the dead followers, examining them one by one as if he finds them fascinating. Turning back to Jacob, I watch for a moment as he continues to struggle with the locket.

  “I want to go,” he gasps. “I want to experience the new level of consciousness.”

  “There's no new level of consciousness,” I tell him. “That was just a delusion he used to get you on his side.”

  “You're wrong.”

  “Those people are dead,” I say firmly, “just like everyone died ten years ago, including my mother. And then...” I pause for a moment, remembering the way he thrust a gun into my hands when the police and military were storming the compound. “You tried to use me as a shield,” I continue, disgusted by the sight of him. “At the end, when everything else was going to hell, you sacrificed me to save your own skin. How the hell did you ever away, anyway? You should've rotted in jail for the rest of your life.”

  “Attaroth facilitated my escape,” he replies. “He looked after me.”

  “I believe you,” I mutter. “That sounds like the kind of sick thing he'd do.”