Devastation

by Jane Dougherty

  “What if there’s a whole barn full of mad women with pitchforks itching to see us off?” Jim’s voice had a hard, frightened edge. He’d taken a look inside the farmhouse and was visibly shaken by what he had seen. The girl shot him a look full of hatred then ceased struggling and burst into tears.

  Eirian gave Jim a look full of reproach but said nothing. Instead she took the girl’s arm and led her away from the buildings to where the horses formed a protective circle around Jeff. The girl moved slowly, dragging feet that had lost their shoes. From the state of her clothing, torn and soaked in blood and farmyard dirt, she looked to have been killing pigs herself. From the smell, Tully judged she had been wearing the rags for days.

  “Jeff, pass me a bit of water, will you? And a clean cloth from my bag.” Eirian wiped the girl’s face and passed her a cup of water to drink. “A bit of flat bread and a piece of cheese would be a good idea too.”

  When the dirt was cleaned from her face and her hair pulled out of her eyes, Tully could see that she was scarcely out of her first childhood—Jeff’s age, if that. Eirian offered her the food, but the child only glanced at it furtively and looked away.

  “Have something to drink, at least.” Eirian held out the cup, and the reaction was stronger—the girl pushed it away angrily, slopping water over her lap. Eirian moved closer and tried to take her hands. This time the girl bared her teeth, whipped her hands out of Eiran’s reach and sat on them.

  “No devilry!” she spat out. “No more devilry!”

  “She only wants to help,” Jim said angrily.

  “You won’t make me do nothin’ bad. I won’t let you! Not like you made Father.” The girl’s eyes flicked furtively back toward the farmhouse. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and rocked slowly backward and forward, humming tunelessly, as if to blot out noises nobody else could hear.

  Kat felt herself drawn to the girl. Easing Jim out of the way, she sat down next to her. “Tell us what happened. Did you see who attacked your home?”

  The girl stared at Kat with wide eyes that changed expression from fear to trust with startling rapidity. She shook her head. “I didn’t see no one. But I heard the whisperin’. No one else heard it except Father.”

  “What did it say?” Kat asked in a quiet, calm voice. The girl gulped, and her eyes darted back to the farmhouse again.

  “It said that Eblis come to the house, when Father was in the fields. Eblis come, and Mother let him in. It said that Eblis come often, that Eblis was the real father of us children. Father went wild. Mother didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. She couldn’t hear the whisperin’ voice. Father took the big knife, the one we use for the pigs…”

  The girl covered her face in her hands, and Eirian placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. But the story wasn’t finished, and, wiping her hands nervously on her filthy apron, the girl went on. “I was in the kitchen and crep’ out the back door while Father was… While Mother… The others was asleep upstairs, except Avery. He was listenin’ on the stairs. He tried to climb out the window when Father ran upstairs, but Father grabbed him by the hair an’, an’…I ran to Corbin’s house, but there was screamin’ there too! The whisperin’ voices was getting louder and louder. Only the screamin’ was louder than the whisperin’.” The girl stared with sightless eyes then put her hands over her ears. Eirian placed her hands on the girl’s head.

  “No! Get away from me,” The girl shrieked and pulled away. “No more devilry!”

  Kat moved closer, a curious feeling welling up inside her, a tingling that spread from the pit of her stomach to her fingertips. “The devilry was in the whispering. It’s gone now. Trust me.”

  She held out her hand, and the girl, with slow, hesitant movements, laid her own hand in Kat’s, all the while staring into Kat’s face with eyes that were all black—dull pupils, the irises swallowed up by the blackness. Suddenly, a red flicker appeared in the dark depths, and the girl’s lips curled back in a grin that was more like a snarl. Kat had to fight back the shock that ran through her, willing herself to hang onto the girl’s hand, not to let go, despite the pain that seemed to be reaching toward her heart.

  Kat’s features puckered, and Jack moved to place his hands on her shoulders. Eirian stopped him with a sharp gesture and shook her head. The girl’s eyes narrowed, glittering with a strange light, and she clutched Kat’s hand tighter. Her entire face contorted now, baring her teeth with animal savagery. Kat winced in the grip that felt more like the claws of a bird of prey than a child’s fingers, but she held on. She opened her mouth to say something, something to calm the girl’s fear, to stop the galloping pain that poured into her through the contact, but the wild eyes held her gaze fast and her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth.

  Suddenly the girl’s expression changed from one of triumphal hatred to one of fear, and she tried to pull her hand out of Kat’s grip. Her eyes opened wide with horror. Her lips let out a bestial snarl, then she threw back her head and howled, a heart-rending sound of desolation and grief. Dusty sat bolt upright, her ears pricked, then she raised her muzzle and imitated the girl. Kat gasped, her tongue loosened, the comforting words flowing out of her at last. She grabbed the girl’s other hand, but the howl broke off abruptly and the thrown-back head went limp. Yvain crouched and caught the girl as she fell backward, lifeless. With a sob of frustration and anger, Kat gave the small hands a final squeeze then let go. Jack took her in his arms, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

  “You have a powerful gift,” Eirian said.

  “Then why couldn’t I save her?” Kat asked, blind in her anger.

  “You did. Look.” Eirian pointed to the long scar that an illusion had dissimulated and that only now, in death, became visible. The raw gash ran across the girl’s neck from ear-to-ear, but the girl’s features had settled into an expression of peace.

  “The poor creature was already dead, friend healer. She was the demon’s messenger, nothing more. Not even the greatest healer can bring back the dead. But you have saved her soul, and that is more than I could ever have done. She is at peace now.”

  Kat stared at Eirian in astonishment, then back at the girl lying in Yvain’s arms. Her face was reposed, and a faint smile seemed to play about her lips and eyes.

  “I couldn’t speak,” Kat whispered. “I tried to speak to her. There were things I could have said to ease her pain, but my tongue was held fast, and I had no power over my voice.”

  “The demon held you as it held the child, but you broke free.”

  “So,” Kat breathed faintly, “I am a healer.” Despite her grief, she beamed at Eirian. “What I always wanted to be.”

  * * * *

  Sanjay lay in his brother’s arms. His breathing was labored and sweat had broken out all over his frail body. Rajeev was weeping silently. They had eaten nothing for two days, and petrol was seeping into all the water sources they knew of. The world was dying, if it wasn’t already dead. It had been days since they had heard the terrified screams of survivors found by the black slime—the eaters of souls, as Erelah called them. Rajeev dared to hope that the darkness had moved on, found new pastures to graze, far away from their rubble-filled cellar. But Erelah dashed his hopes. The eaters of souls would not leave until the world was laid waste.

  Rajeev shivered, and a wave of despair washed over him, but there was more. There was worse to come. Because the eaters of souls were only the outriders, they’d opened the path for an even greater evil. In the debris of the world, Evil was searching for something, someone to make its power complete. With every soul consumed, Evil drew closer to discovering the final piece in the puzzle—Eblis-Azazel, the fourth of the scourges. On that day, the world—all worlds—would be consumed. There would be no escape, not even for the dead.

  Erelah burst into the cellar carrying a large bundle, her excited breath streaming white in the chilly air.

  “Here,” she called out triumphantly. “Coats! And I found a kitchen cupboard in t
he rubble of a building behind the Rue de Rivoli. I couldn’t carry more than a few cans of soup but that will do until I get back there tomorrow, and—”

  “Erelah”—Rajeev wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand—“Sanjay’s dying.”

  Erelah peered at the boy in the dim light and placed a filthy hand on his brow. She frowned.

  “He’s burning up! But, Rajeev, he has to hang on! Just a few more days, maybe even less. I heard it again, the voice in the dream. I almost know the way, the path in the stars.”

  Rajeev sighed wearily. He was almost too tired to argue, certainly too tired to hope. Erelah didn’t seem to understand how tired he and Sanjay were. She burned from within with a fire that she said came from this other place, the place where she said she would take them to. But Rajeev had no fire inside, only weariness. And fear.

  “I know you believe in this path, Erelah, but there are no more stars. We see nothing in the sky. Everything is black, empty.”

  Erelah clutched his arm. “The stars have nearly all gone, but there are still a few left. I’ve seen them—faint, but hanging on. And there’s someone out there, Rajeev. Someone is dreaming. If I can only find a way to reach them—those last stars, that dream—we can still get out of here.”

  Rajeev looked away, cradling his brother’s body in his arms. He couldn’t bear to see the vain hope so bright in Erelah’s face when he knew it was too late.

  “Sanjay can’t wait, Erelah. If you can’t find your dreamer soon, he will die.”

  “If I don’t find the dreamer, we will all die.”

  Rajeev looked down at Sanjay’s feverish face and saw death sitting in its sunken hollows.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Parting of the Ways

  Suddenly the quiet hamlet seemed sinister and silent in the unnatural chill of the summer morning. The cold stone was like an unvisited mausoleum and Carla found herself straining ears and eyes for signs of life, friendly or otherwise. Despite their eagerness to get away, over the river and into the forest of Retz, Yvain had wanted to check the place over. He and Tancred searched the farm buildings for survivors, though with little hope of finding any. They did find more bodies, entire families on the neighboring farms, and at one farm even the livestock and the dogs had had their throats cut.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” Jack stormed, “up that shagging mountain, and shove the dark fella over the edge. The longer we hang about, the more of…this is going to happen. We can’t even bury the bodies. There’s too bloody many of them!”

  Kat tried to calm him down but he was beyond reasoning.

  “Come on then, master traveler, your friendship, sir. Show us the way out of this shambles, since that’s why you’re on this trip at all.” Jack thrust his face up toward Tancred’s.

  “And what your role might be, except to generate a lot of hot air, defeats me altogether,” Tancred said, clenching his fists. Jack clenched his. Yvain stepped between them. His quiet voice had a dangerous edge to it.

  “Master travelers, you are playing Wormwood’s game, and you must stop it. Can you not see that it is he who has placed this anger in your minds to drive a wedge through our group?”

  “This is between him and me,” Jack retorted. “Aren’t I allowed to have an original thought of my own? Can’t I say Tancred is a right bollix without an interfering psychoanalyst telling me some nutter from another dimension put the thought in my head?”

  “I am aware of where all this anger comes from, my friend,” Tancred said slowly and carefully, with a surreptitious glance at Kat. “I want you to know that your suspicions are groundless. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Fear?” Jack exploded. “I was more frightened of my Grandma Quinn’s cat—the deaf one, with three legs and no teeth, a week after it got flattened on the shaggin’ back road!”

  “Silence!” Yvain brought the end of his staff down hard on the ground. “You defile the memory of these unfortunates with your puerile bickering. And you are perhaps putting all of us in danger. Listen!”

  Carla had already turned and was looking back up the meadows toward the woodland they had just left. Dusty too was poised, muzzle pointing in the same direction, ears and nose searching for something that lay still hidden among the trees. Slowly her hackles raised and her teeth bared in a snarl. Carla’s hand reached for her knife. She heard it too, a noise like the wind in dead leaves, like a storm getting up among the trees, but the air was still—and very cold.

  “Mount up,” Yvain ordered and whistled up the black stallion that took no notice and trotted into the middle of the meadow, his ears twitching, tail held high. The horse whinnied defiantly and pawed the ground.

  “This is no time for heroics, Bayard!” Yvain called and whistled again, eying the darkening sky apprehensively. But the horse, Bayard, stood his ground, shaking his mane. Jack’s gelding bounded over to join him and Tancred grabbed the reins of his own horse as he tried to follow. Urging the reluctant animal toward the ford, Tancred called to Kat to follow. The white mare kept still while Kat mounted, but every muscle twitched, ready to spring away. Jeff’s palomino pricked her ears and whinnied anxiously before trotting after Tancred’s horse, the packhorses trailing behind.

  Eirian was still vainly trying to keep her terrified bay mare still when the farm buildings exploded. Doors and window shutters burst open and spewed out a mob of bloodied corpses, their disarticulated limbs flailing, red gashes grinning across their throats. All carried a weapon—pitchforks, scythes, kitchen knives. The horses shrieked and reared in terror, and Eirian’s mare fell. The palomino bolted for the river with Jeff clinging to her neck, dragging the packhorses with her.

  “Jeff!” Kat screamed, and Tancred halted his horse at the ford’s edge. What he saw appearing from the forest behind them drained the color from his face.

  “Kat, get that horse moving!”

  As if in obedience to Tancred’s command, the white mare sprang after him, taking the lead across the shallow ford. Carla and Tully calmed their horses long enough to scramble into the saddle and struggled to keep control as the animals skittered about. With the horses poised to follow Kat, Jeff and Tancred over the ford, Carla turned back to the meadow. She gasped in horror, her stomach filling up with ice-cold fear. She pointed to the woods beyond.

  “Porca Madonna, Tully, look!”

  Tully was watching the mob racing toward them, cutting them off from the ford.

  “There, Tully!”

  He turned and stared in the direction of Carla’s pointing finger.

  “Oh, fuck,” he whispered.

  Carla saw her own terror reflected in his eyes. “Golems! Let’s get out of here.”

  They kicked their horses’ flanks, urging them away from the river, away from the pack of corpses hacking at the threshing limbs of Eirian’s unfortunate mare. The woods were cut off too, by monstrous, lumbering figures. Disfigured bodies seethed around them, and Tully wheeled his horse about, turning his head back up the meadow, to where the stallion Bayard and Jack’s gelding were preparing to defend their herd against the golems emerging from the woods.

  Eirian was running the same way, away from the impossible nightmare crowd. What had been a farm worker loped after her, a sickening gurgling sound spewed from the mutilated throat, and a hand reached out to snatch at the back of her jacket. Eirian screamed, and Jim turned and prepared to leap after her, but Yvain grabbed his arm, shaking his head and waved his free hand in the air. Jim took up position. Carla and Tully both urged their mounts after Eirian, yelling inarticulate obscenities at the creatures stumbling close on her tracks.

  Suddenly, whinnying in surprise and fear, the two horses shied and reared. Tully and Carla, hanging on for grim death, slithered dangerously in the saddle as the horses pranced about. Yvain was gesturing frantically.

  “Go on! Go with Tancred to the place. We’ll follow. Now, go!”

  Carla’s horse backed away from something it couldn’t see. “We
can’t get past,” Carla yelled at Tully. “Jim’s made a barrier.”

  The howling mob slammed up against the invisible barrier, and Eirian ran on alone into Yvain’s arms. The crowd of corpses turned its attentions to Carla and Tully. A hand snatched at Carla’s foot and, her face puckering in a grimace of disgust, she sliced at it with her knife. Tully reached over and grabbed her mare’s bridle, pulling the frightened creature about. More hands reached out, more pitchforks and scythes slashed in their direction.

  “Come on, Carla, back to the ford! And ride like hell!”

  Jack swung around, a confused expression on his face. Carla guessed he must be looking for Kat.

  “Kat’s okay. She’s with Tancred and Jeff,” she yelled, pointing across the river. Jack turned sharply, his gaze searching the far bank, and Carla saw relief spread across his face.

  “Get out of it, Tully!” Jack yelled back. “Just do what he says. And look after the girls. There’s a good lad!” Then he turned back to the confusion of flailing hooves and the golems’ inhuman roaring.

  Carla looked briefly at Tully, her eyes sinking deep into his, to capture an image of his face, hoping it wouldn’t be the last. Tully touched her cheek and smiled, then dug his heels into his mount’s flank and yanked Carla’s mare after him. They tore back up the field, trampling a small girl wielding a scythe and a boy with a garden fork. Jeff and Kat were already on the far bank of the river with two of the packhorses. The third, Carla saw, was lying on its back, kicking in its death throes as a middle-aged woman, two young men and a couple of adolescent corpses hacked at it with farm implements. The horses whinnied again in terror, nostrils flaring as they smelled the blood, and they balked at the ford. Carla clutched at her mare’s neck as the animal shied and reared up. She gave a gasp of fear, but gripped with her thighs and refused to let go.