“It is true, Sokwa. I have seen it with my own eyes. Nootau believed it too. He was the one who showed me. It is how he...” Samuel stopped, realizing he’d just answered Sokwa’s only real question.
Sokwa bowed her head. “So he is gone? Nootau is dead?”
“Yes.”
She took a giant breath, coughing out the exhale with sadness and panic. “At the hands of this sea beast? You saw this happen?”
“Yes.”
Sokwa’s sadness slipped quickly into anger, twisted with disdain. “Why did you not tell the story as it happened? Why did you lie? Were you to blame for his death? Did you leave him to die without helping him?”
“There was nothing to be done. The Croatoan is larger than any man and a half. And I did lie, but only because I knew the truth would label me a liar. By your people and mine. And then I would be banished. Or killed. My father is gone, Sokwa, you know this, and...and my mother would have offered for me to suffer either punishment before I ever had the chance to tell the story twice. She has told me as much.”
Sokwa didn’t argue with this excuse, and Samuel knew his mother’s reputation was consistent with his story.
But his mother had nothing to do with his lie. Elyoner Cook was simply the perfect stooge to disguise Samuel’s real purpose for the fabricated story.
He wanted to keep his god secret. He wanted it all for himself.
Chapter 25
“Have we done the right thing, Matunaagd?” Nadie stared out the opening in the side of the wigwam, gazing out over the pre-dawn village square, a pensive look of guilt in her stare. “We have put the life of a young girl in the path of death and terror.”
“She was a willing participant in this quest, Nadie,” Matunaagd replied. “She was aware of the dangers and insisted.”
“But she does not know the real danger. She could not.”
Matunaagd paused for a moment, considering his wife’s declaration. “She loved Nootau. They would have been married if not for...that boy. And we were honest about the danger.”
“Not all of the danger.” Nadie repeated and then spun toward her husband, her eyes now wide with doubt and anger. “The Croatoan is real. I believe it now, Matunaagd.”
Matunaagd paused “Maybe.”
“Then you believe it too?”
Matunaagd dipped his chin slightly and turned away.
“What do you know, Matunaagd? What have you not told me?”
He shook his head and closed his eyes, fending off any beliefs that some ground-shaking admission was about to be unfolded. “It is nothing. There was a similar story that drifted through the generations of my family when I was a boy. That is all.”
“That is not nothing. Why did you never tell me of this?”
“It was a spirit story, Nadie. Who reveals such things to his wife? Revealed as if it were some dark familial secret?”
Nadie ignored this excuse. “And why did we not tell Sokwa the truth of the Croatoan’s existence? If we knew it to be so?”
“We don’t know it. Not for sure. We told her what we believed. That Samuel was in search of the woman from the west to learn more about the story, not because he thought Nootau was still alive. She knows the story of the Croatoan now. We told her enough.”
“She should have been told the whole story. The story Numohshomus told. About what he saw as a boy. She should have been told that we now believe those stories to be true. Then she could have made her decision based on that. Once all of the information had been revealed to her.”
“And what makes you think the boy Samuel hasn’t told her of it already? Hmm? About what he has seen? They are headed to the Wishalowe waters on the western shores. To find the banished Croatoan woman for the purposes of learning the creature’s secrets. If he has seen it for himself—the Croatoan beast of the sea—as we suspect he has, then he will tell her of it too. Do you not think he would have told her by now?”
Nadie shook her head. “No, I don’t. You saw the way he lied to us, Matunaagd. I knew his story of Nootau’s death wasn’t as it truly happened, not the way he told it. The story of sharks is always a convenient tale, one only a boy would tell, and much of his story was not feasible.” She hesitated. “But I thought perhaps him innocent, too.”
Nadie frowned and turned away, lowering her voice ruefully as she spoke.
“I thought, perhaps, he was a witness to some tragic accident, one of which he was even complicit. That some dare or game between Samuel and Nootau had turned dark, and that it became some terrifying secret in his mind he thought too incriminating to reveal.” She took in a deep sigh. “But now I think it differently. I think Kitchi was right. I know it in my bones. He watched him die, Matunaagd. And he took pleasure in it.”
A tear fell from Nadie’s eye at the thought of the young English boy smiling as he watched her son scream in terror and pain. Not struggling in the jaws of some shore-dwelling shark, but in the claws and teeth of a beast she believed her whole life to be only a myth.
But it was real. And wherever it had slogged back to for the last ten, twenty, fifty years, it had now returned from that depth, this time to their own location on the Yapam, and perhaps into the sound itself.
She hadn’t believed in Kitchi’s rantings about her grandfather’s tale, not entirely at least, but his disappearance from the village—combined with the death of her only son—left little doubt in her now. Only a combination of obsession and evil—the latter part played by Samuel Cook—could have moved Kitchi from the village in the middle of the night. And only a creature such as the one described in the tale of the Croatoan could have taken two of her own in less than seven moons.
“It matters little, Nadie,” Matunaagd said, “they have gone to the western sound. And the Croatoan, if it is real—”
“It is,” Nadie spat instinctively.
Matunaagd nodded. “It is of no danger to them there.”
“That is not my worry, Matunaagd. That is not the part of the story that makes me fear for Sokwa’s life.”
“What then?”
Nadie stared into her husband’s eyes. “It is the craving. It took only the idea of the beast to lead Kitchi away. Knowing what it had done to his nephew, believing it to be true, and he went anyway.”
“You can’t know that, Nadie. Perhaps he was taken by the Cook boy against his wishes. He is...was a cripple.”
“No, Matunaagd, you know that is not true. It was the reason he wanted to be taken to the longhouse long before sleep was coming for him. And if Samuel Cook arrived without invitation and tried to take him, Kitchi would have screamed like the foxes of the deep woods, waking not only us but half the village as well. Not to mention that boy wouldn’t have had the strength to take Kitchi unless Kitchi offered what assistance he could.”
Matunaagd nodded and offered even more. “And I can’t figure a reason Samuel Cook would have had to take Kitchi through the forest and down to the sound. What effort that must have been.”
“The reason was Kitchi’s insistence, I’m sure. He almost certainly threatened the boy. Told him that he would be blamed for Nootau’s death. And it was this greed that cost him his life. And I fear our son possessed the beginnings of this craving as well.”
Matunaagd frowned and looked to the floor of the wigwam. “I never want to see it, Nadie. I never want to see the Croatoan.”
Nadie knew it wasn’t fear of the creature’s strength that her husband dreaded, but rather its ability to govern his heart. “Nor do I, Matunaagd,” she concurred, leaving a thread of ambiguity in her wake. “Nor do I.”
Chapter 26
Danny and Samantha walked up the front steps of Danny’s porch, with the ostensible plan of coming back to his place to hatch a plan for the destruction of the sea god. But it was almost one o’clock in the morning by the time they entered the front door, and Danny could barely keep his eyes open at that point. The chance that some great idea for killing the beast was going to be born on this night was pure f
olly.
If roads led in other directions, however—toward the bedroom, for instance—Danny was willing to explore them. Sleeping with Samantha wasn’t his goal on this night, but given the stress of his day and the impulses that four Fat Boy Sam’s IPAs were providing in his loins, sex would have been the perfect ending to the night.
But any prospects of a little late-night romp were put to rest the moment Danny flicked on the kitchen light and saw Tracy sitting on his couch thumbing through one of the dozen newspapers that were scattered about the floor beneath her. Her back was to them, propped against one of the arms of the sofa, her bare feet stretched out across the cushions.
“And you used to get on me for staying up too late,” Tracy said without turning around. “Must have been a good night.”
She turned her neck now to see Danny and Samantha standing inside the door. They both wore the combined looks of surprise and exhaustion on their faces. Samantha blushed.
“And it looks like it’s about to get even better.”
“I used to get on you for sleeping late,” Danny answered, not acknowledging the innuendo. “That’s different than staying up late.”
Samantha turned toward the door, clearly embarrassed to have walked in at this hour, a little drunk, to find a young woman sitting on Danny’s sofa. “I’ll just go then. I’m sorry.”
Danny was confused for a moment but soon arrived at the reason for Samantha’s brusque announcement. He frowned. “This is Tracy, Samantha.”
Tracy flipped the paper to the side and sat up, swinging her feet around to the floor. “Hi.”
Samantha gave Tracy the once over, and then tilted her head up in recognition. “Tracy, of course.” She looked at Danny. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other so well.”
Danny wasn’t sure how to reply to the implication, so he shrugged.
“I just rent his house back in Rove Beach,” Tracy chimed in, now narrowing her stare at Samantha. “Do we know each other? You look really familiar.”
The part about rent wasn’t technically true, Danny thought. Tracy lived in his house, but ‘rent’ implied money was given in exchange for her living there.
Samantha shrugged and shook her head slowly. She was tired, exhausted, and not yet ready to dive back into her story again or describe the circumstances under which she and Tracy had met.
“I don’t know, but it’ll come to me. Anyway, the reason I’m here is because I found a book in Danny’s house that I thought he might be interested in. He knew I was coming.”
In all the drama of the day, Danny had forgotten about Tracy’s earlier call or her purpose for being there now. Thoughts of the mysterious book she’d found now had him nearly salivating.
“Wow, Tracy, you drove all the way from Rove Beach to deliver a book?” Samantha said with a detectable lilt of sarcasm. “That’s pretty generous. Why not just mail it or something?”
“Oh, yeah, well...it seemed...seems pretty delicate, so...so, I just wanted to bring it in person. I don’t mind driving. I needed to get out of that place anyway.”
Danny knew Tracy’s stammering was brought on by a concern that she had said too much already, and that she was on the verge of spilling their mutual, mortal secret about the sea god. But Samantha already knew the story, was intimately connected to it, in fact, so Danny let Tracy off the hook before things got too uncomfortable. “It’s fine, Tracy. Samantha knows.”
Tracy looked at Samantha, one eyebrow raised, as if impressed that she’d been thought highly enough to have been brought into the club. “Wow, he must really be into you. That’s a big thing to know about someone, don’t you think? You guys getting married?”
“Yes, Tracy,” Danny responded, not missing a beat. “We’re getting married. The wedding is tomorrow, and you’re not invited.”
“I’m coming anyway.”
Danny smiled at Tracy’s sass, and he was suddenly invigorated now that she was here with the book. The sleep—or perhaps sex—that had seemed inevitable only a moment ago was suddenly brushed to the side, replaced by a more desperate longing.
The book.
Danny didn’t know how at the moment, but it was important, and he had little doubt it would be crucial for discovering the secret to destroying the creature, or at least banishing it to some dark corner of the ocean. This was the way things worked. Tracy had called for a reason. Everything was something, and it all played at least a small part in the development of the universe. Of life. There was meaning to all things. He believed this now as much as he believed in the pull of gravity. Nothing was superfluous.
“So let’s take a look at this book of yours,” Danny said, trying not to sound too eager, though he couldn’t have given a reason for his moderation.
“Wait a minute!” Tracy suddenly stood and stared at Samantha. “I do know you!”
Tracy strode quickly toward Samantha, and for a minute Danny thought she was going to hit her.
“You came to my house that day. Looking for Lynn. You’re...oh my god, you’re Lyle’s daughter.” Tracy looked at Danny now, fear in her eyes. “Did she tell you—”
“Yes, Tracy, she did. That’s why she knows about it. We’re all on the same team here. Now we’re just trying to figure out how to win the game.”
Tracy turned back to Samantha and stared at her for a few seconds longer, still a bit suspicious at her presence. Then, as if the words just registered, she looked back to Danny. “What the hell does that mean?”
“There’s been some trouble in this place. This town. It’s happening again.”
“What?” Tracy’s face flushed.
“Yes. It’s here, Tracy. I found it. I tracked it down. People have died again. I don’t know how many, but it’s responsible for at least one and probably several more. We have to stop it. I have to, at least. It’s what I’ve dedicated the last two years of my life to doing, and I finally have a chance. That’s why Samantha came back here tonight. And that’s why I’m hoping this book you found can help us.”
The energy Danny had drawn from Tracy’s arrival suddenly waned, and the draw of sleep hit him hard again. The temporary shot of adrenaline was gone, leaving him with an overwhelming need to close his eyes.
“But we’re not going to find it tonight,” he said, “and, honestly, I don’t think I can say another thing about it until I get a few hours. I’m spent. We’ll take a look at the book tomorrow, with fresh eyes, and if there’s something in there of use, we’ll figure out how to put it into action.”
“Hopefully we have that long,” Samantha prodded. “None of this is going to work without you, and if you’re in jail—”
“Jail? What is going on, Danny? You didn’t say anything about jail. Why are you going to jail?”
“I can’t tonight, Tracy. Please. Just trust me that it’s going to be okay.”
“Promise?” Tracy’s eyes lost their jocularity and turned dejected.
Danny gave a single, weary nod. “Samantha, you can have my room, and Tracy, the guest room is already made up. I’ll take the couch.”
“Okay,” Tracy conceded, and then held the book up to show she was laying it on the bar. “But we’re going to get to this tomorrow, first thing. I can’t have you going to jail, Danny.”
“We’ll look at it first thing, but not to keep me out of jail. It’s our responsibility now. Too much damage has been done by this monster, and people like Lynn and me, and god only knows how many other people over the years have allowed it...encouraged it to continue. We have to find it before it moves on and terrorizes some other town.” Danny’s smile turned weary. “And yes, before I go to jail.”
Chapter 27
Samuel listened to Sokwa’s translation of the story in a state he had never experienced before. It was happiness, yes, but it was more than that. He felt—light—like someone had lifted a heavy weight from his chest, allowing him to breathe the air more fully than he knew possible.
The story was riveting, of course, but Samuel c
ould also sense the texture of truth in it. It wasn’t like the Greek stories of Zeus and Poseidon, where nonsensical explanations were attributed to the world around them, conveniently filling in gaps that otherwise lacked any scientific depth at all. There was too much about the god’s origin the woman didn’t know for it to be a simple legend.
According to the lore of her people, the first sighting of the sea god was by a group of Croatoan fishermen, seining at the shore of the Yapam decades before the woman’s birth, perhaps pre-dating her parents and grandparents as well, though Sokwa either couldn’t quite grasp the time span or the woman couldn’t communicate it.
But it mattered little to him. The tale was simply an earlier version of the one he already knew. The god had appeared to the fisherman from the sea, rising like some phantom of the water before standing in cold stillness in its watching, menacing way, exploring the land like a hungry dragon, its eyes hunting for only a minute or two before returning to the sea. There had been no record of attack during that first incident, the woman said, but Samuel knew for sure it had been surveying the shore, measuring the beach for its potential as a feeding ground.
The woman relayed a few more of the sightings that had been passed down verbally throughout the years, most of which seemed unconnected to the one before, and each of which concluded similarly, with only a sighting and the Croatoan retreating without incident to the sea. Samuel remained engaged in these separate tales, but as Sokwa’s translations dragged on in similar fashion—without her speaking of any of the beast’s killings—Samuel became frustrated, eventually interrupting the delicate revelations with questions.
“When did the sacrifices begin?” Samuel asked, speaking to the woman directly. “When was the first killing by the beast?” He looked at Sokwa. “Ask her. Please, Sokwa.”
The Origin (The Sighting #2) Page 16