This River Awakens

by Steven Erikson

  When the tilt reversed itself, I leapt off the floe. It helped, but they all slid towards me, towards the widening crack between us. I got down on my hands and knees. The water was numbing, sending a shock through me.

  ‘Tell them to let go!’ I said. ‘I’ll catch you. You’re sliding right to me. They have to get off!’

  Mr Louper twisted his head again. He blinked, looked around as much as he could. ‘Away,’ he croaked. ‘Caesar, away!’

  The dog gripping his left arm in its jaws ducked at the command.

  ‘Caesar, away! Behind the boy! Away!’ The dog let go and bounded across the crack, its paws leaving streaks of blood.

  I heard it pacing behind me, coughing as it breathed.

  ‘Kaja, away! To Caesar, damn you!’

  The dog with the hood in its jaws jumped back, slipping on the tilting ice, its back end skewing around. I reached for its tail and managed to close my fingers around it. My grip was weak, numbed by the cold, but I pulled anyway. Kaja’s back end went down into the water. I lost my grip but reached out again and found her collar. I needed both hands to pull her on to the ice beside me.

  Mr Louper was calling off the third dog, Shane, but it paid no attention at all, still pulling on his right wrist even as they both slid into the water. Mr Louper went down on top of Shane. I saw him reach out with his left arm and I grabbed the wrist. I tried to pull him out, but he was too heavy. I felt myself sliding and lay flat.

  ‘Climb!’ I said. ‘Just climb!’

  Shane was nowhere in sight, and Mr Louper’s whole right side was under water. He kicked and his left leg slashed upward. I let go of his arm with one hand and clutched him around his ankle – he’d lost his boot and sock, and the foot was blue and cold. I pulled his leg up and he got his knee on to the ice.

  ‘Climb on me,’ I said.

  He pulled his arm free from my grip and I felt his hand clutch my parka. He kicked his other leg on to the ice and all at once the air was pushed from my lungs. He rolled on to me, his right arm stretched straight down into the water.

  ‘I’m not losing you,’ he gasped. ‘I’m not. Not again.’

  I squirmed my way clear, rolled back through the sloshing water.

  Mr Louper reached for me with his left hand. I gripped it, still lying flat out. I felt him straining, then with a heave he raised his right arm and lifted Shane’s limp body by the collar, out of the water.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘It’s flooding – come on!’

  Somehow, he got to his feet, Shane in his arms. Flanked by the other two dogs, he followed me back to shore.

  ‘That’s my house over there,’ I said, teeth chattering uncontrollably. ‘Let’s go.’

  Slowly, we made our way to my yard. Mr Louper held Shane with its head down by his knees. Water streamed from the dog’s open mouth. The man was sobbing, clutching the animal against his chest.

  We’d reached the lawn when I heard the dog cough. It kicked a hind leg, catching Mr Louper under the jaw. He grunted in pain and sagged to the ground. Shane squirmed free of his arms and fell on to his side, retching. The other dogs came up and each tried to lie down beside Shane, but he kicked them away when he felt their touch.

  Mr Louper was bawling his eyes out.

  I looked at them all a moment longer, then I went to get help.

  III

  She remembered him inside her, and his body against her. It doesn’t make me a slut. I won’t do that with anyone else. Everything’s changed now. I’m over with, I’m not the way I was, not any more.

  The house was silent, the only sound the melting snow outside. Her mother had gone somewhere in the morning, and her father had left a little while later. She’d stayed in her room, the door locked, listening to records until she was certain she was finally alone.

  Jennifer lay on the bed, letting the quiet surround her with its peace. She wanted him again. Here in this bed with the door locked and no one else at home. They’d have hours together, as many as they wanted, with Rhide disposed of, Roulston back in his hospital, Queen Anne in someone else’s cupboard, her father … dead or gone – dead, so he’d never come back, never fuck her up the ass again – and her mother in a convent or something, where everyone else held the same vows of silence.

  She heard the door open downstairs, heard her mother’s boots, the steps careful, few as she stopped on the small, square rug intended for muddy shoes, where she unbuttoned her coat, placed her gloves on the shelf, then stepped out of the boots. Stockinged feet moved down the hall, into the kitchen. Water filled a kettle.

  Sighing, Jennifer sat up. Another record? No, I’m hungry. She unlocked the door and went downstairs.

  Her mother was wearing a blue dress – Jennifer thought for a moment that it was brand new, then she remembered it, a vague collection of scenes from years ago taking form in her mind. ‘Well,’ she said, entering the kitchen, ‘I barely recognised you.’

  Smiling, her mother started taking things out of the refrigerator.

  Jennifer sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. She saw the note and angled it so that she could read it. She looked up. ‘Church? You’re kidding. Have you ever been to one before?’

  ‘When I was a child,’ her mother said, her voice rasping, her back to Jennifer as she broke eggs into a bowl and began whipping them.

  ‘Oh.’ Jennifer tapped ash on to the ashtray. ‘You talked! Was there a faith healer there or something? Christ, you talked!’

  ‘I’m out of practice,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m sorry. It hurts.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found God.’

  Her mother set a frying pan on to the stove-top and flicked on the heat. She turned and smiled. ‘I think,’ she said, an odd light in her eyes, ‘that it was the crows.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘On the road, yes,’ she said, brushing at her greying hair. She turned and poured the egg into the pan. ‘They were all talking. On the way home. I talked to them, and they talked back.’

  Jennifer held her attention on her mother, following her every move. ‘You didn’t accidentally drop some acid, did you?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Is that what it’s like, Jennifer? Do you talk with birds?’

  ‘Well, you might. Like, a whole conversation.’

  ‘Oh.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t understand them. There were dead animals on the road. The crows were eating them. They got angry when I came too close. I told them not to worry.’

  Jennifer frowned. ‘This is so strange. You’re talking. I’d almost forgotten the sound of your voice. And here you are, talking about crows. Eating dead animals.’

  Her mother removed the pan and dished scrambled eggs on to two plates. She brought them over, then moved behind Jennifer and rested her hands on her shoulders. ‘You’re growing up so fast,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry it’s what you had to do—’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Jennifer said quickly. ‘Really. It’s better this way.’

  ‘I know. What I meant to say … I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Jennifer said. She laughed, then stood and faced her mother. ‘You must be kidding, Mom. I’m a mess!’

  ‘You’re fine,’ she said. ‘You are. And I plan to say a few things to that teacher of yours.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Owen’s mom chewed her out. So has Dr Roulston. She won’t cause any more trouble—’

  ‘That’s not the point. I have things to say to her, that’s all.’

  ‘All right,’ Jennifer said slowly.

  The phone rang and she went over and answered it. Susan was on the other end.

  ‘Jennifer? Your father’s here.’

  ‘What? Oh, I’m sorry—’

  ‘No, no. He fell through the ice. He was trying to save one of his dogs, I think. Owen saw it. Owen helped him. So, your father needs some dry clothes – he’s swimming in Jim’s. And leashes for the dogs – they’re in the garage right now.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘We
ll, three. Is that all of them? Your father mentioned one called Max—’

  ‘No, that’s all of them. We lost Max about a year ago.’

  ‘One almost drowned, but he seems all right now.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be right over.’

  ‘Is your mother there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to her, Jennifer.’

  She handed the phone to her mother, who’d come to her side.

  ‘Hello?’ She listened for a moment, one hand going to her chest, then, seeing Jennifer, she waved her away.

  Jennifer hesitated. Susan was doing all the talking. Her mother gestured a second time. ‘All right.’ She went upstairs and entered her parents’ room. He almost drowned. Unbelievable. His clothes. Yuck. Idiot, fucking drunk. She found a travel bag, trying not to think about what she was doing as she quickly went through the drawers – underwear, socks, work pants, undershirt and shirt. She found a sweater in the closet, among the shoes, and a pair of scuffed work boots. With everything stuffed into the bag, she headed back downstairs.

  Her mother was still on the phone, still listening, her face wet with tears. Jennifer set the bag down by the door. She went into the kitchen and found a box of Kleenex, which she brought back to her mother. She paused then, thinking.

  Leashes. By the back door.

  They hung on a peg, four sets of long, worn leather. She collected three of them and returned to the front door. It was too painful to watch her mother. She quickly threw on her jacket and pulled on her sneakers. Shouldering the bag, and with the leashes in one hand, she quietly left the house.

  The asphalt road was bare, but wet. Water filled the ditches, and the playground had flooded. The sky overhead was a stunning, bright blue.

  Jennifer had reached the bend down at the bottom of the playground when she saw Lynk, emerging from the windrow down the path to her right.

  ‘Slut!’ he yelled, approaching. ‘You’re all fucked. Don’t blame me ’cause you’re all fucked!’

  ‘What’s your problem?’ she asked as she continued walking.

  He came up beside her. ‘Roland knows. I told him everything. You don’t know shit. Neither does Owen. Just Roland.’

  ‘You mean spray-painting the school? Burning down the candle factory? Get real. We know, Lynk. You’re a fucked-up little shit. So what?’

  ‘Hah, you don’t know anything. But I’ll tell you. Only I want to neck. You and me. That’s the deal. I can tell you something – you won’t fucking believe it, Jennifer. But that’s the deal.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  The driveway was just ahead.

  Lynk pushed her, grabbing for her tits. She twisted away, staggering, the bag dropping to the ground. She turned as he came close again, his face twisted with hate. She swung the leashes at that face. He shrieked in pain and jumped back.

  Jennifer glared at him, the leashes held ready.

  Lynk rubbed at the red marks on his cheek. ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘What’s with my face anyway?’

  She watched him walk off, then picked up the bag and headed down the driveway.

  * * *

  Her father looked shrunken, pitiful inside Jim’s morning coat. He sat hunched over on the sofa, a cup of coffee in his hands. His eyes shifted briefly as Jennifer entered, then he resumed staring at his hands.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ she asked.

  The Brands had left the room, were all in the kitchen.

  He shook his head, not looking up.

  Jennifer dropped the bag beside him. ‘Get dressed. I’ll be in the kitchen.’

  Owen was bundled under blankets, flushed from a hot bath. He grinned as she sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘You should’ve seen it,’ he said. ‘The ice was breaking up everywhere.’

  ‘You saved him?’

  ‘Nah.’

  Jennifer’s gaze found Susan’s as Owen continued, ‘I couldn’t get close enough. The dogs saved him.’

  ‘The dogs?’

  ‘They pulled him out. He’s got the bite marks on his arms to prove it.’

  Susan’s expression was hard to read, intense, with something like fear and relief and a half-dozen other emotions all mixed up behind her eyes. After a moment, she went over to the stove. Jennifer looked back at Owen. ‘What about the cuts on his face?’

  ‘One of the dogs had his hood. He got scraped across the ice.’

  Susan set a cup of coffee in front of Jennifer. ‘Now you can sell the story to Reader’s Digest. Man’s best friend, as they say.’

  They were trying to put her at ease, but it wasn’t working. She felt so ashamed of the little man getting dressed in the other room. Her friends here couldn’t help but see her differently now. They couldn’t help but feel pity. Even Owen, because he’d seen everything, the stupid old man out on the ice, floundering helpless in the water. ‘What was he doing out there?’ she asked.

  ‘One of the dogs fell in,’ Owen said. ‘He was trying to save it.’

  Susan added, ‘But it ended up the other way around.’ She sat down beside Jennifer.

  ‘I’m sorry about all this—’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Susan cut in. ‘It was an accident, but it turned out okay. That’s all that counts. I think your father’s all right. What’s shaken him, got him thinking, isn’t what you’d expect, Jennifer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, he said he couldn’t believe that the dogs saved him. He thought they hated him, which was why they ran away.’

  ‘You mean they escaped? I didn’t know that.’

  Susan looked at Owen, who shrugged and said, ‘That’s what he told me. Someone let them out. Last night.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘Hungry?’ Susan asked.

  IV

  The sun was setting, bringing to a close God’s day of rest. Fisk sat in his living room, the cattle prod on the table in front of him.

  They’re waiting down there. For me. The bastards think they can do anything. It’s their season, after all. This sinking away, into the earth, the land’s own darkness showing itself again. They think they can just walk up, set everything loose, and I’m not going to give a fuck. What did I fight for, all those years ago? For the little pricks to just walk all over me, like I didn’t matter, like I was a piece of dirt? I took a chunk of shrapnel for them. What the hell for?

  It’s time to pay the piper, it’s time they danced to my tune. I’ve been letting things slip. Lost my vigilance. I went soft, and they got to me. Never again. They’ll pay the piper, with screams, with so much pain they’ll age right in front of me – the light in their eyes will dim away to a dull flicker. They’ll finally see things how I see things, all the tired, cracked refuse cluttering this modern age. I’ll make them old. I’ll twist every season around them. There on the maypole, drawing the ribbons tight.

  He pushed himself upright, the cattle prod in his hands. His crotch ached in anticipation. No more waiting. I’ve been letting it slip away. No more. They’ve hurt me. Now it’s my turn. And not just playing any more. The game’s over with. It’s for real this time, finally for real.

  He walked down the hallway, making his footfalls loud. Let them know I’m coming. The wallpaper on either side looked even more faded, less real and more just a tired, useless memory. He reached the top of the stairs and opened the door.

  Listen to them. They finally understand what’s coming.

  Fisk turned on the cellar light and went down the stairs, his breathing loud, but tight in his chest. He felt his cock against his leg, rubbing with each step. There’ll be an accident if I’m not careful. An accident. How embarrassing.

  He reached the uneven concrete floor, came to the cages. He saw at once the hole in Rat’s door, the wires chewed, the wood gnawed. Rat was free. Fisk turned quickly, expecting to see the creature scampering up the stairs. But the steps were unoccupied. So far. He backed to them, until one heel clumped against the bottom step. He scanned the floor, squinting at shadows in the dim light
.

  He thought he heard a faint call. Something like a voice, coming through the walls. Dorry? Go away, dear. Not now. You don’t want to see me now.

  Rat was hiding, somewhere – beneath the cages, or under the workbench. He’d gotten out of the cage, but he wasn’t free. Not yet. Not ever. The other two mink paced in their prisons, watching, their eyes glistening. Fisk waited.

  He’ll be fast. He’ll get by me. I’d better close the door. He began climbing the stairs, backwards, his eyes scanning the cellar, the steps below. He reached the top, the open door behind him. He activated the cattle prod and held it ready in his right hand, then groped backward with his free hand, hunting for the doorknob.

  The floor creaked behind him. Gasping in alarm, Fisk spun around. The cattle prod pushed against something and discharged. Fisk staggered, halfway around, as he was pushed. He tottered, clutching for something to hold on to as the pushing continued. Then the weight slipped past him – a body, plunging, thumping hard on the stairs, rolling, tumbling down to lie motionless and small on the cellar floor.

  Fisk stared down at the boy, unable to think, unable to register what had happened.

  He’s not moving. His eyes are wide open. One of the boys.

  He went down the stairs, crouched beside the body. He’s dead. Dead outright – I know that look. He was dead before he hit the stairs, before he fell against me. He was dead instantly. That can’t be. It was just a cattle prod. This doesn’t make sense.

  Oh God, can you hear me? God? Let me go back, bring the sun back up into the sky. Do this for me, please.

  Rat bolted past him, leapt for the stairs and vanished beyond the doorway.

  Rat’s free. Escaped. Rat’s gone wild, unleashed. Rat’s looking for the throne of summer, he is. It’s his now, finally his. And all the blossoms come pelting down, and the ashes that hung in the air from the burning wheel, the rain will bring them down. Down to the earth. Rat’s free, finally free.

  Fisk stood. He went to the other cages. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Game’s over.’ He flipped open the cage doors. The mink jumped out, followed in Rat’s path, clambering lightly over the boy’s chest and hopping up the stairs.

  He went back to the boy and picked him up. Too light. Damn you, God. Damn you to hell. His shoes thumped loudly on the stairs as he made his way upward.