Angel Fall

by Coleman Luck

  Sleep and don’t be afraid.

  Higher and higher the Shadow rose until it enveloped Tori’s body. Then she was lifted. But all she knew was that her mother was calling…calling her home. And she wanted to go to her. She wanted to go home. And the way was through the frame. She would sail through the Shadow like a little star…back to her mother’s arms.

  Suspended in the cloud, Tori floated across the ceiling to the frame.

  Closer and closer…until she could feel the coldness of the glass…

  Then she was sliding through…

  At that instant Bellwind rushed back into the room. With one look the old woman saw it all. From her came a scream of terror and a raging command. Lightning answered. Out of her mouth streaked fire that smashed into the seventh frame. Thunder shook the house as she leaped, trying to grab Tori.

  Bellwind touched Tori’s ankle, but that was all. Then, like a feather sucked into a hurricane, Tori was gone. Instantly the black vapor disappeared and the frame was nothing more than scorched wood and broken glass hanging empty above an oily stain.

  The old woman collapsed, sobbing. Behind her there was movement in the shadows and the rumbling voice spoke again. “The journey…it is now. Do not…any longer…delay.”

  Bellwind turned to cry out. But the giant of the moonlight was gone.

  10

  TOWER CALL

  Night.

  And there was something wrinkling the air.

  A kind of rustling disturbance just on the edge of hearing.

  Amanda felt it as soon as she awoke. Without taking her head from the pillow, she looked around. She was in a room that flickered with dim light. A figure was standing at the foot of the bed holding a candle. It was Bellwind and her eyes were full of pain.

  “Wake up, child.”

  “What’s wrong?” Amanda sat up. The rustling was growing and it frightened her.

  “This world and all that’s in it. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “Something’s happening outside.”

  “My people are preparing to defend their home. Now, hurry. No time to talk. Breakfast awaits.” Placing the candle on the dresser, she left the room.

  Amanda got out of bed. It wasn’t cold but she was shivering. She found that she was still dressed except for her shoes; they had been removed and placed beside a chair. Pulling them on, she went to a window and looked out.

  The island was undergoing a transformation. Below, in the moonlight, indistinct shapes were sweeping through the fog. Some looked like bushes and vines, others had the vague appearance of men and women—but not human—more like smoke drifting across the ground. Suddenly a shape passed in front of her and she screamed. It was a tree, and in the heart of its branches glistened a lovely phantom with wild eyes staring at her. As Amanda watched, the tree began to change; its branches moved as though blown by a strong wind. Masses of leaves dropped away, and out of every branch grew a blood-red thorn. When the transformation was complete, the phantom gave a terrible cry and flowed away with the rest.

  Amanda rushed to the door. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she found Bellwind waiting. The living room was ablaze with light. Candles of every shape and size burned everywhere. And dozens were gathered beneath a broken frame.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Breakfast is going on. That precisely. And it is right now.” On a table sat a plate heaped with bacon, eggs, and sweet rolls.

  “I’m not hungry. What happened to that frame?”

  “Eat, child, you must. Strength, the very strongest of it, will be needed for what is ahead.”

  “Where’s Tori?”

  There was an awful pause. “Amanda, Manda-Manda…” The pain returned to Bellwind’s eyes. “How can this be told? Your little sister is not here.”

  Amanda stared at her. “Where is she?”

  “She has begun her journey.”

  “What are you talking about? She isn’t supposed to go anywhere without me.”

  “Both…you both…were to travel together. But now, that…immeasurably…has changed.”

  “Where has she gone?”

  The old woman looked toward the blackened frame.

  Amanda followed her gaze. And slowly a creeping horror came over her. Within the frame she saw a vague shadow burned into the broken glass. It was the barest outline of a girl.

  It was the outline of Tori.

  Amanda started to scream, but the scream died. Something was behind the glass. A Darkness that she could sense but not see. A Darkness that was alive. She felt invisible fingers groping, probing in her mind, peeling away layers of memory like scabs from a rotting wound. Slicing open every ragged scar. Squeezing the pus from all her rancid sorrows. And in the horror of that moment she felt eyes. Felt them knowing, yearning, hungering to taste every brokenhearted agony.

  And she knew those eyes.

  Then it all turned to sobbing, shrieking rage. Picking up a burning candle, she smashed it on the broken fragments of the glass.

  “No, no, my child.” Bellwind grabbed her and took her in her arms. But Amanda fought her with all her strength, spitting, gnashing, screaming every vile word she knew, desperate to murder, to destroy. On and on the old woman held her until the rage turned into exhausted, half-human croaks.

  Finally a black stillness settled, and Amanda hung like a dead thing in Bellwind’s arms.

  “My daughter, would you do something, please, now do something for me?” Rising, she lifted Amanda to her feet and handed her a candle. “Will you climb my tower? Yes, climb…even all the way to the very top. At the top many questions will be answered. I will be waiting when you arrive. Will you do it? Will you climb?”

  Amanda stared at her barely able to understand. “I…I can’t,” was all she could get out.

  “Yes, you can. And you must. Climb, my child.” And then Bellwind vanished.

  “Where are you?”

  A voice echoed from high above, “Climb, daughter, now.”

  The rage returned. Amanda yelled, “No. You come back down here. Where is my sister? What have you done with her?”

  Silence.

  “Answer me.”

  But there was no answer. So then, now was her chance to destroy with no one to stop her. Snarling, Amanda turned toward the frame. But the instant she did so, she felt long invisible fingers wrap around her throat and drag her toward the frame. Strangling, gagging, she flailed to escape, desperately trying to reach the stairs. Flopping onto the first step, the fingers loosened. Pulling herself up, she struggled to climb, and slowly the fingers fell away.

  Then Amanda ran—past the second floor, higher and higher, sobbing, gasping.

  Soon the walls became a blurry spiral and only the cold dampness of the banister told her that everything was real. In her terrified rage, Amanda stumbled and fell many times, raking her flesh until the blood ran. Each time she screamed and swore. But then Bellwind’s calm voice would whisper, “Keep climbing. Don’t give up.” Which made her even more furious.

  Finally, from the gloom of the staircase, Amanda rushed out into crimson moonlight. She was in a large, open bell tower surrounded by an iron rail, and above her hung a gigantic bell. She was alone. She almost screamed again, but then she looked out into the darkness. What she saw drained her rage away.

  The climb had brought her above the clouds that covered the island. In the distance, soaring into the sky, stood a jagged peak so vast and majestic that it seemed to rise beyond the stars. Like a King in splendor it stood, crowned in crimson brightness. Never had she seen such a Mountain. Walking to the rail, she gazed up at it. Then a soft voice whispered, “Amanda. Manda-Manda.”

  She turned but she was still alone. “Where are you?”

  “Look up.”

  Amanda looked. Inside the bell shimmered a face of silvery loveliness surrounded with masses of softly drifting hair. It was Bellwind, but it wasn’t.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I have become mys
elf. Walking down below makes me old and tired. And my words stumble with my feet. Here, I am as I was at the beginning.”

  “But…where’s your body?”

  “All around you. I am the bell and the tower. This is my place to see and remember. Isn’t the Mountain beautiful?”

  “It’s so huge.”

  “Yes, it is greater than all. And you have come because the Mountain has called you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Amanda, listen to the song of a dying world.”

  Sing wind,

  Of ice hearts,

  Echoes of children who will never be,

  Lost ones crying soft in the darkness,

  Their song,

  Bloodsong,

  Sing.

  Sing wind,

  Of Star Curse,

  Of blood-gorged rivers that rush to the sea,

  Why did you answer the call that he gave you?

  His song,

  Bloodsong,

  Sing.

  Sing wind,

  Of Iron Tongue,

  His lies like daggers pierced through me.

  Oceans of teardrops, the wombs are dying.

  Birth song,

  Bloodsong,

  Sing.

  Sing wind,

  Of childhood’s end,

  On burning altars and bleeding trees,

  Crimson axes slash in the moonlight,

  Blade chant,

  Bloodsong,

  Sing.

  Amanda shivered. As she stared out toward the dark land beneath the Mountain, she heard strange, moaning cries. “What is that?”

  “Desert and forest, swamp and rock, crawl with things that were never meant to be. That is Boreth now, once the land of the whispering garden. My island is a fading memory of all that was. What you hear are the ghosts of those who gave their souls away.”

  “Were they people?”

  “Yes, creatures like you.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Death and choosing. Lying and listening. They lived in golden cities across this world. At their creation, seven powers were brought to guide them. The Worwil—the World Walkers—and you must learn their names. Thunderer. Weaver. Watcher. Caller. Singer. Painter. Healer. These are the Seven, and in the beginning they walked together. Their joy was in the Song of Songs. But then one turned and broke the chain forged when stars were born. It was he who went to war against the others. And he has almost conquered, for strength was held in oneness. The people followed him…and they are gone. The memory of his shadow was what you saw in the frame.”

  “I saw something else. I saw Tori. Where is she? And where is my brother?”

  “All that’s happened is because of the baby.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was born in blood in a time of horror and was taken to your world to hide him from their eyes. But they found him and stole him. And if they could, they would have killed him. I was the messenger sent to bring him back, but now my work is done. Every moment they grow more desperate. They will stop at nothing to keep him from reaching his home. Amanda, I brought him through the stars, but the most dangerous part of the journey lies ahead. He must be carried to the Mountain. That is why you and your sister were brought here…and now you must go alone.”

  “What…?” Amanda stared at her.

  “He is very light and will not be a burden. Provisions are ready. There is no other way.”

  “But you didn’t ask us whether we wanted to do this. You just kidnapped us.”

  “If I had asked would you have come?”

  “No.”

  “Then what would have been the point of asking? Child, if the decision were mine, I would surround you with armies and march across the darkness with the strength of light. But it is ordained that he must be carried by a child unprotected. And for this purpose you were born.”

  “I can’t do that by myself. You carry him and I’ll go with you.”

  “The Worwil are bound by law. Unless I am called, I can never leave my island to walk upon that shore. And since Boreth was formed, I have never disobeyed.”

  “So, you’re one of those…things.”

  “Indeed, yes, one of those things. I am the Watcher.”

  “Well, if you’re a Watcher, maybe you watched where my brother and sister went.”

  “I will tell you what I can. Alex is alive, but his steps are hidden. He has entered Boreth in another place. The purpose I do not know. And Tori…” There was a long pause, and Amanda felt warm drops falling on her. Bellwind was crying. “Your little sister has been stolen from my house this very night. She has entered a place from which no one has ever returned.”

  Amanda stared at her, then whispered, “Is she…dead? Is my sister dead?”

  Silence.

  And in the silence Amanda knew. In the silence she saw the burned image in the glass and heard the echo of Tori’s screams and heard them die. Suddenly, over her swept all the pain of her whole life in a single drowning wave. And it was more than she could bear. Something tore within her. If her little sister was dead, she didn’t want to live anymore. She couldn’t live all alone. If Tori was dead, she wanted to be dead too. If death would take her to her little sister, then let it come.

  No, make it come.

  With a scream Amanda rushed to the rail and looked down. All she had to do was drop into the soft darkness and the pain would end. Closing her eyes, she climbed over the iron. Now, all she had to do was let go.

  And she did let go.

  But at the edge of falling something caught her. Something pulled her back. Invisible arms wrapped around her. Not the arms of Bellwind. The arms of the one in her dreams. Strong yet infinitely caring, the way she had always wanted her father to be. At first she fought them, then finally sank into them, sobbing until the desire for death passed into a stillness not unlike death.

  For a long time she lay on the floor and felt the arms fading. When she opened her eyes, she was alone. Struggling to her feet, she caught sight of the Mountain. How close it was. And out of it flowed soft waves of crimson light. In that light there was glory. Exaltation. The light was the source of all loveliness, and it wasn’t far away—just at the top of the Mountain. If only she could touch it. Live within it. As her heart flew toward it, from the Mists came singing, lovely voices calling her name. Among them she thought she heard her little sister calling her to come.

  Amanda leaned against the rail. But this time she was straining upward. Her sorrow remained, but with it there was a terrifying, mysterious joy. It wasn’t pretend. All of it was real. The Mountain had called her to walk away from everything that she had ever known…to follow a path that led into shining. And with that call came the strength to carry the baby home. She still felt small and weak, if anything, smaller and weaker. But somehow what she felt no longer mattered. Her questions were still there. But for every one there was an answer. To learn them all meant walking, then climbing, even if it took forever. And forever wasn’t far. Not when the Mountain knew your name.

  Suddenly Bellwind’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs, “Amanda, it’s time. Walk down, yes, walk down, my child.”

  Turning away from the Brightness, Amanda Lancaster moved down through the blue shadows of the tower toward agony and glory, called to the singing mists around a Crimson Throne.

  The great sickle moon cast a dull redness in the fog as a raft drifted away from Bellwind’s island toward a mysterious shore. In one corner, beneath a blanket, huddled Amanda with the baby in her arms. The little boy was asleep cuddled in a sling against her breast. She could feel his gentle breathing. Nearby was a backpack filled with food.

  Suddenly she was very lonely. Somehow everything was different down below. She looked back—past the trees and vines at the island’s edge. Above them she could see the tower—the place where she had stood. Was it her imagination or did it actually change into the form of a beautiful woman—almost like an angel looking down? Th
ere came the peal of a silver bell and the ghostly image faded.

  As the sound echoed over the water, it was answered from far away by a raging cry and a series of trembling wails. After that…stillness. Water lapped against the raft.

  The journey had begun.

  11

  THE MUTT

  An ant crawled out of a thick patch of brown hair…across a dirty forehead…and onto the bridge of a nose. Alex jerked straight up and brushed it off.

  Daylight.

  He stared around. Where was he? Two dusty shafts of sunlight glimmered high above, and a dizzying twenty feet beneath him lay a dirt floor. He was on a ledge. It took Alex a moment to collect all the pieces. Was he actually inside a statue? Could all of that have been real? He remembered the eyes and the shrieking voice.

  Definitely a nightmare, he decided. He had gotten sick on the raft. He must have had a fever. That was the only logical explanation.

  Rolling over on his stomach, he looked out through the crack in the wall.

  Well, the city was real. A dismal sun had risen over the ancient, vine-choked wreck. It was an ugly place. He wondered if he had come ashore somewhere in South America. Maybe there were natives close by. Or even archaeologists. Somebody had to be digging in this mess. But then another thought. What if the natives were headhunters? What if they collected heads and shrunk them to the size of potatoes? Of all the possible ways to end your life, the least attractive had to be hanging in a hut with strings running through your lips. Definitely something to be avoided.

  As he gazed down at the street, he saw the dogs, hundreds of them still sitting just as they had been the night before, looking up at the statue in eerie silence. They were so motionless they could almost be statues themselves. He stared harder…and rubbed his eyes.

  They were statues.

  And they were crumbled and worn as though they’d been sitting there for a thousand years. But how could they have seemed so real last night? He could still hear them raging and crashing against the door. He’d been totally nuts. Absolutely wacko.