He shook his head. He didn’t remember how Edwin had brought him here, and he feared the Lodge would seal them in.
They’d have to go back through the tunnel, Raven realized. The rafter that Greediguts hung from was tearing loose. She pulled New to his feet and said, “Come on! Hurry!”
At the doorway, as the bass moan continued to rise, and the currents of black magic from Edwin’s contorting body began to crack the walls, Rix stopped to look back at the elderly man he’d loved.
He saw only the Pumpkin Man.
Then he turned away and ran after New and Raven.
The entire corridor was shaking, chunks of stone falling from the ceiling, rock dust churning through the air and almost blinding them. “The wand!” New told Raven. “I have to get it back!”
In Ludlow’s workshop, the pendulum was swinging steadily. The tuning forks were vibrating blurs, and the bass tone had passed the pain threshold. Raven, her bones twisting as the sound pierced her, retrieved her lantern. The walls and floor shivered violently, cracks snaking across New’s path as he picked up the Mountain King’s wand. A piece of rock the size of an anvil fell from above, crashing only a few feet away. Rubble rained down, striking him on the head and back. The pendulum was swinging faster, and New felt a terrible pressure building in his head. There was no way to stop it, he realized. The thing was out of control, and God only knew what it was going to do. They had to get out of the Lodge as fast as they could.
The chamber’s floor buckled, almost throwing New to his knees. The bass tone had become a low, demonic bellow.
Guided by their light, they ran through the pitching corridor to the staircase that had brought New and Raven from the lower level. In another moment, Pendulum’s moan had reached a pitch of pure agony. Rix’s eardrums were about to explode, and as he struggled down the stairs, his equilibrium dangerously unbalanced by the noise, blood burst from his nostrils.
On the lower level, the granite pillars were shivering. The iron pilings were making high whining sounds, like the strings of a harp being plucked by a madman’s hand. One of the pillars cracked and collapsed, followed by a second and a third. Stones tumbled from the ceiling.
“The foundation!” Raven shouted, barely able to hear herself. “It’s destroying the foundation!”
The tunnel stretched before them. Around them the stones grated and shifted. Black water poured through cracks above their heads.
Still the moan of Pendulum pursued them. Raven faltered, but Rix supported her and took the lantern before she dropped it. Water swirled around their ankles.
And then the hair stirred at the back of New’s neck, and he turned toward the Lodge. Several paces ahead, Rix looked over his shoulder, then aimed the light in the direction from which they’d come. He froze with terror. The beam illuminated the panther racing after them along the tunnel, coming like a massive black machine of destruction. It dragged chain and entrails after it, the hook still buried deeply in its belly.
As the monster hurtled toward them, New tightened his grip around the wand. He had no power of his own left; he was weak, worn out, and would have to trust in the power that had been passed from generation to generation, contained within a gnarled stick that wouldn’t bring two dollars at a flea market.
“Come on, you bastard!” New shouted in defiance.
Greediguts leaped, gory steam bursting from its nostrils.
New swung the stick like a baseball bat.
A blinding ball of blue flame shot from it as it met the panther’s head. The monster shrieked—and for an instant both New and Greediguts were connected by the fiery wand. Then Greediguts’ body was thrown backward as if it had hit a stone wall, and New fell into the water that surged around his knees, his nerves on fire.
The panther’s body, its mangled head hanging on strings of tough tissue, slowly began to rise to its feet again. Its jaws snapped together, tearing at the air.
And over the wail of Ludlow Usher’s machine came the sharp cracking of tunnel stones, like sticks broken in powerful hands. A section of the tunnel between them and the Lodge caved in. Black mud, water, and weeds collapsed into the tunnel. A torrent of water swept toward Greediguts, New, Rix, and Raven. Rix had time only to put his arm around Raven’s waist before the water hit them with a force that knocked them backward and off their feet. He was blinded. New’s body collided with him, then was tossed away.
Rix was lifted up in the thrashing water; as his head emerged into a space of air in the darkness, he heard the tunnel stones above him cracking, splitting open. Water from the lake was hammering down into the tunnel. Rix gasped for air and shouted to Raven, “Hold on!”
Raven’s hand found his shoulder and gripped hard. The entire tunnel was flooding, and again the water surged over Rix’s head.
They tumbled before the wild currents. Rix was thrown violently upward, his back scraping across tunnel stones that had not yet collapsed. Air burst from his nostrils and Raven was almost wrenched away, but Rix held on to her with all his strength.
His lungs burned for air. Currents swirled in all directions, pushing and pulling at the same time. A cold sweep of water threw him upward again, and he braced for another collision with the tunnel’s ceiling.
But then he was tangled in weeds and mud, and he realized the current had shoved him out of the tunnel, onto the lakebed. Now the water was sucking him down again, and his body fought wildly against it. Raven was kicking too, trying to escape its suction.
They were drawn downward, halfway into the tunnel—and then another surge of water boiled beneath them, and they were thrust upward through the black water and the weeds.
Rix’s head emerged into a gray curtain of rain. Beside him, Raven coughed and gasped for air. Rix’s arm had been almost dislocated from the effort of holding on to her. Waves rolled over them, propelling them toward the rocky shallows. As they lay on the rough stones with the rain and the waves beating around them, Rix looked back toward the island.
The Lodge was trembling like a massive tuning fork. The glass cupola shattered, the marble lions rocked and plummeted from their positions on the roof.
Pendulum’s moan pulsated in the turbulent air. It changed, became a hoarse, maddened scream that pounded into Rix’s mind:
—traitorrrrrr—
The Lodge was falling to pieces like a house of cards. It heaved and shook, its towers and chimneys swaying, then collapsing. The roofs caved in. Lakewater battered the house, black spray shooting fifty feet into the air. The west wing shuddered and fell, the contents of rooms spilling out like jewels from a huge treasure box.
—all for you—
The voice of the Lodge was weakening.
With its next vibration, the entire front of the house cracked and fell away in an avalanche of marble and masonry. Revealed was an intricate warren of rooms, corridors, and staircases that slowly collapsed, one after another, and disappeared into the water. The lake had become a churning cauldron filled with beautiful trash that boiled up and then was drawn into the depths.
Suddenly the remainder of the Lodge was split by a massive seam that worked its way up from the foundation, branching off into a dozen more cracks, a hundred more, crawling inexorably across the stones.
—traitor all for you—
The Lodge sagged, crumbling away in what looked like a gigantic, slow-motion explosion, tons of marble plunging into the lake.
The walls fell. From the ruin of the Lodge came a Shockwave that crushed Rix and Raven together, a cold fury that carried the scream traitorrrrr across the lake and over Usherland, echoing from Briartop Mountain in the crash of a thousand falling trees.
The voice of the Lodge and the roar of Pendulum were silenced.
Waterspouts danced like tops across the lake. Chairs, desks, stuffed trophies, curio cases, beds, tables, and pianos had surged toward shore. Around the lake, the trees had been sheared off at their trunks, and much of the forest up the south side of Briartop had been leveled.
When they could move again, Rix and Raven slogged through the shallows. Near the shattered remnants of the bridge, another figure lay on its side in the mud.
Rix helped Raven to the ground, and turned toward the ruins. Blood dripped from his nose, he was bruised in a dozen places, and his right arm dangled uselessly. He knew Pendulum hadn’t reached its full potential; the weight of the Lodge, he thought, must have crushed the machine before it could destroy the mountain and everything else for miles around.
The front of the maroon limousine suddenly rose up from the depths. It was covered with mud, and its grille looked like a grinning, warped mouth. Then it slid slowly back into the water.
It was only then that Rix realized he still held the ebony cane in his hand. The silver lion’s head had been washed almost clean of mud.
He was holding it so tightly that his knuckles ached.
Eight
THE DECISION
45
USHER PATRIARCH DIES: LODGE DESTROYED,
FOXTON ROCKED BY TREMORS
By Raven Dunstan
Editor and Publisher, Foxton Democrat
Walen Erik Usher, patriarch of the powerful Usher clan and owner-chairman of the Usher Armaments Company, died Wednesday, October 31, at Usherland, the family’s estate seven miles east of Foxton.
Usher had been ill for several months, and was confined to bed. The cause of death, according to Dr. John Howard Francis of Boston, was massive cerebral hemorrhage. On November 2, private funeral services were held at the estate, attended by many government and armed forces officials.
Survivors include his wife, Margaret Usher; a daughter, Kattrina Usher; and two sons, Boone and Rix Usher.
Rix Usher has been named successor to the family business. Through a spokesperson, Boone and Kattrina Usher have announced extended travel plans.
Within hours of Usher’s passing, a violent series of earth tremors, localized in the Briartop Mountain area, leveled Usher’s Lodge, the 143-year-old landmark constructed by Hudson Usher. According to Rix Usher, there are no plans to rebuild.
The tremors, which were felt as far away as Asheville, shattered windows in Foxton, Taylorville, and Rainbow City. Taken to the Foxton clinic for treatment of injuries caused by flying glass were Neville S. Winston, Betty Chesley, Elton Weir, and Johnny Faber, all of Foxton.
Geologists at the University of North Carolina are puzzled by the tremors, and are currently beginning a study of the area in hopes of finding their origin.
The Briartop Mountain-Foxton area suffered an earthquake in the autumn of 1893 that caused severe property damage and left more than twenty mountain residents dead.
The staff and management of the Foxton Democrat wish to offer their condolences to the family of Walen Usher.
It was the middle of January, and a cold wind was blowing as Raven stopped her Volkswagen before the closed gates of Usherland. She lifted the collar of her coat up around her neck and then rolled her window down. Within reach was a small speaker. She pressed the mechanism’s button and waited.
“Yes?” the voice asked.
“Raven Dunstan. Mr. Usher’s expecting me.”
The gates clicked open to admit her. After her car had passed through, the gates locked themselves again.
She was met at the front door of the Gatehouse by a young maid who took her coat, then escorted her not to the living room—where she’d been several times since that horrible day—but upstairs, along a corridor where the only sound was that of a softly ticking grandfather clock. Raven was led to a staircase that ascended to a white door with a silver knob.
“Mr. Usher’s waitin’ for you,” the maid said. She glanced nervously up the stairs.
“Thank you.” Raven climbed up to the door, then paused. There was the faintest hint of an unpleasant odor in the air. It smelled like meat that was going bad. She knocked at the door. The silence of the house unnerved her. When Rix didn’t answer she opened the door and peered inside.
He was sitting on the edge of a large bed with a bare mattress. There were no lights in the room, and no windows, and he squinted as he looked toward the door. “Raven?” he asked. “Come in. You can leave the door open, if you like.”
She entered, and approached him. The smell was stronger in here. The walls, she saw, were coated with rubber, and she knew this was the Quiet Room that Rix had told her about—the room where Walen Usher had died.
Rix was wearing an expensive gray suit and a blue-striped tie. In the tie was a small diamond stickpin. His face was wan and tired, as if he’d gone without sleep for a long time; there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked at her with a troubled gaze, and Raven saw that he held the ebony scepter across his knees.
“I came as soon as I could get away from the office,” she said. “Are you all right?”
He smiled faintly. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
“Neither am I,” she told him. It was cold in here, and she hugged her arms around herself for warmth. “Dad’s getting better,” she offered. “The doctor says he’s making real progress. He knew who I was the last time I visited.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He ran his hand over the smooth ebony. “My mother’s found a condominium, at last. She says I ought to come out to Hawaii sometime for a vacation.”
“Does she…know about Boone and Kattrina yet?”
“I think she really wants to believe that Katt is in Italy and Boone is on a tour of Europe. Of course, she knows something’s wrong. If she lets herself realize that they’re dead, she’ll go to pieces. She’ll have to know sometime, I guess, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I’m…really grateful for that story you wrote, Raven. I still don’t understand why you didn’t blow the lid off everything, but I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
She had had the chance of a lifetime, she knew, but she’d let it go. What was the point? The Pumpkin Man was dead—the chain of Pumpkin Men broken—and there would be no more children vanishing without a trace. There was still so much she couldn’t comprehend about what she’d been through; sometimes it seemed like only a particularly nasty dream. Except that her limp had never returned, her father was in a sanitarium, and Usher’s Lodge lay in ruins. Down deep, though, she was repelled by the thought of writing a story that would tell the mountain people exactly where their children had been going over the years. Her perception of evil had been sharpened dramatically, and when she saw a report of missing children in another newspaper, her flesh broke out in cold goosebumps. The Democrat’s circulation continued to climb, and New Tharpe was working out just fine as a copyboy. Pretty soon, she intended to let him write his first story for the paper—but for the time being, he was going to school like any other normal kid.
“I got a letter yesterday,” Rix said. “It was from Puddin’ Usher. She’s in New York City now, and she wrote to tell me that she’d just signed a contract with a publisher.”
“What?”
Rix nodded, a grim smile stitched across his mouth. “They’re going to pay her a hundred thousand dollars to write an account of her life as an Usher. She’s going to do talk shows and newspaper interviews. Isn’t that a kick in the ass?”
“Can she do that?”
“I don’t know. My lawyer’s looking into it right now. Jesus,” he said softly. “Listen to me. I think I sound more and more like my father, every day. I look in the mirror and see his face staring out.”
“What have you decided to do? About your condition, I mean?”
“No more Welsh pies,” he said, and she winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Dr. Francis called me. He still wants to run the tests I told you about. I’d have to go to Boston and stay in the hospital for a couple of weeks.”
“Are you going?”
“I want to, but…what if there’s no cure for the Malady, Raven? What if it’s so deep in the Usher genes that
there’s no way to root it out? I watched my father die, right on this bed. What I saw I wouldn’t have wished on anyone. Not even him.” He looked up at her pleadingly, and whispered, “I’m…so afraid.”
“But you have a chance,” Raven said. “All the other Ushers had that chance and turned away from it. But you’ve got the best chance of all; with modern medical technology, there’s a real possibility the Malady can be controlled, Rix. Isn’t that what you said Dr. Francis told you?”
“He said they’d give it their best shot. But what if it isn’t good enough? What if I have to die in this room, just as my father did?”
She shook her head. “You’re not your father, Rix. You see things your own way. You don’t have to live the same kind of life. But it’s up to you to make the effort to change things. If you don’t…who will?”
“I can still smell him in here,” Rix said, and closed his eyes. His fingers caressed the scepter. “He’s inside me. All of them—Hudson, Aram, Ludlow, Erik, Walen—they’re all inside me. I can’t escape from them, no matter how hard I try.”
“No,” she agreed, “you can’t. But you can be the Usher who makes the difference for all the Ushers to come.”
“I’m the last of the line, Raven. It dies with me. I wouldn’t bring a child into the Usher world.”
“I see. Then you’ve decided to turn your back on life? Are you going to lock yourself in up here and swallow the key? Damn it, Rix, you have everything and you can’t see it! And I’m not talking about the money—you’d probably be happier if you started using it instead of letting it sit in banks. Think of the schools you could build with it! The hospitals! Think of the people who need homes and food, and there are plenty of those right in this area! You have the chance, Rix! You can be a thousand times the man any other Usher ever was!”
She was right, Rix knew. The first thing he could do was to build some decent houses for the people on Briartop Mountain—some brick houses, far better than the cabins that leaked rainwater like sieves. There were people who needed food and shelter, and kids like New Tharpe who wanted the opportunity of education, to stretch their boundaries far beyond the limits of their present lives. One-tenth of the Usher fortune could create a university complex that would be unsurpassed anywhere.
Usher's Passing Page 47