Creatures of Want and Ruin

by Molly Tanzer

  They didn’t have to look too hard; it was actually in plain sight. Streaks in the dust on the floor revealed some crates off to the side had been recently shifted.

  “There may be someone down there,” murmured Jones. “I know you said that your, ah, contact would only confirm that Hunter and his gang would be there tonight”—Ellie wondered if Jones refused to call them generals for some service-related reason or if he just thought it was a stupid title for them—“but who knows. He may have a few healthy young men standing guard. After all, if his brass is still alive, who did you and SJ and Aaron kill the other night?”

  Ellie’s stomach went cold. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “You okay with killing more of them?”

  “I wasn’t okay with killing any of them.”

  “Nothing’s changed since then for you?”

  “Are you stalling because you want me to go down there first? Because if so, step aside.”

  “Just being polite,” he said, his grin a crescent moon in the dark night of the shed. “Especially since ‘ladies first’ doesn’t seem to be appropriate here.”

  At that, Ellie sidled in front of him and descended into the darkness. Her legs felt a bit weak; her nerves were getting to her. She was sweating, too, though the tunnel was cool.

  “How about you use that flashlight, Miss West,” he whispered.

  “What if it alerts these healthy young men you’re so afraid of?” She was afraid of them, too, but pretending as if she wasn’t helped her ignore her quivering legs and queasy stomach.

  “Then we fight,” said Jones.

  The tunnel was mercifully quiet as they crept along, the light from Ellie’s flashlight bobbing along ahead of them like a will-o’-the-wisp. It was a longer passage than she had anticipated, and more damp. The sound of dripping water was unsettlingly loud in her ears. Ellie shone her flashlight onto the bare earth of the wall. The mushrooms bubbled out of the ground here, too—oily smears that gleamed strangely.

  “Kill your light,” said Jones, and Ellie almost jumped out of her skin.

  She did, and then asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, just look.”

  There was a faint smear of light up ahead, and another ladder. Beyond, she could hear men’s voices.

  “Jones,” she whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “If we make it through this . . .”

  That eyebrow! It always made the little hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prick up, but she remembered how heartened she’d been that Gabriel seemed to think they’d make it through this. And Gabriel’s expression when Jones had been teasing her earlier . . .

  “Let’s you and me have a talk. One we should have had a long time ago, I think.”

  “A talk, huh? That big handsome fiancé of yours gonna be all right with you having a talk with me?”

  “I’m guessing he’ll request it.”

  That threw Jones for a moment, but then he shook his head and muttered something Ellie couldn’t quite hear, but sounded a lot like “Figures.”

  Ellie held a finger up to her lips, and then pointed to the square of light above them. The end of the passage appeared to be just a rough-hewn hole in the earth, as many of these smugglers’ tunnels were. But they were definitely in the right place. It was not moonlight that puddled on the floor by their feet, it was torchlight, and they could discern various sounds of activity—footfalls, mumbled calls, and once, the patter of something that sounded like seeds hitting the earth.

  “I don’t like how long this is taking,” murmured Jones at one point. “They could come down here at any point and rumble us, and then all of this will be for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing,” said Ellie. “None of this is for nothing.”

  Her heart started to pound when she heard Hunter’s voice in the near distance. Straining to hear him, she climbed a few rungs of the rough ladder, until Jones hissed at her and tugged at her pant leg to stop.

  “Is the salt circle complete?” Even when Hunter wasn’t performing he was frighteningly compelling.

  Ellie couldn’t quite make out what the response was, but it seemed to be in the affirmative. It was maddening, not being able to hear clearly—though she knew she ought to be grateful that Hunter’s supernaturally clear voice let her hear anything at all.

  “If there are any breaks . . .”

  In the response, Ellie only heard the word “check,” but Hunter seemed pleased.

  “Good, good. And what of Robert? Is there still no sign of him?” After a pause, breathless on Ellie’s part, Hunter said, “Did you go by his house?” He was clearly not pleased. “How disappointing. I know he was injured, but his absence is really quite strange. Well, no time to worry. If his allegiance has shifted he will not survive the night. The problem will take care of itself. But I hope that is not the case. Robert has been a valuable colleague.”

  The voices got louder—they were walking toward where Ellie and Jones were hiding. Ellie ducked back down the ladder and out of the light, fearful of being seen.

  “He might have told someone of our plans.” The voice was a youthful one.

  “Even if he has, they will not be able to find us. You assured me the salt circle was complete. If it was done properly, we will be invisible to any prying eyes—and anyway, our guards are already patrolling.”

  “Guards!” whispered Ellie.

  “Shh,” said Jones, but neither did he look pleased.

  “I must make myself ready,” said Hunter. “The time grows close.”

  “Are you sure you have to be the one?”

  “The vessel’s demand was clear—each sacrifice must be of special significance. We have chosen well so far, but now it comes down to it—and what is a more significant sacrifice than my showing it my own willingness to die for this island? I know you and the rest of my generals will see everyone through the transition, providing guidance and leadership.”

  “I know, Father, but—”

  “You will do a good job in my stead,” said Hunter. “You are my son—you will protect your brothers and sisters and see this task through.”

  Ellie was amazed that Hunter was planning to sacrifice himself; then again, from her first encounter with these people she’d pegged their actions as pure madness. It was simply becoming apparent how many different forms that madness had taken.

  Once Hunter and his son had wandered off again, Ellie and Jones conferred. Neither was pleased.

  “Guards, and some sort of demonic protection,” said Jones fretfully. “I should go; I should try to find the others, and tell them what we heard.”

  They heard Hunter call for attention, his compelling voice rolling over the forest like the distant thunder of a summer storm.

  “There’s no time,” said Ellie. “Trust Fin. She can see the truth, remember?”

  “Let’s at least take a peek,” said Jones, unable to contain his fidgeting any longer. “We need to see what’s going on.”

  Ellie agreed; the very minute of whatever would happen that night was upon them. She crept back up the ladder and poked her head up just enough that she could see. As her eyes adjusted, she motioned to Jones to follow her; they were within the clearing, though just at the tree line—Hunter and his colleagues had gathered inside a smaller circle of torchlight that cast enough shadows that Ellie hoped they’d not be noticed.

  Hunter was there, wearing his own face but dressed in loose red robes. He’d belted them in the middle, and on his left hip hung a small empty scabbard; on the other, a bottle that swung from a leather thong. She could see it was full of a clear liquid—probably not water.

  In his hand, Hunter held a wicked-looking knife, both curved and serrated, as he stood before an enormous, oily fungal excrescence. It came to the men’s shoulders and was bigger around than her skiff was long—not only that, but it appeared to be pulsing gently, or perhaps rippling as some unfelt breeze passed over it. When small, the mushroom-things were disgus
ting; but this one was unspeakable. Ellie couldn’t bear to look upon it for long; it was too unnatural, especially when she remembered that it had been given life by the death of Hunter’s wife and then glutted itself on the blood of human sacrifice.

  Hunter’s generals were also robed, their faces undistorted by whatever strange power Hunter possessed. Ellie recognized some of them from the rally she’d attended. For their part, they were holding copper bowls that glinted orange in the torchlight.

  The entire scene was incredible, like something she’d see on the cover of one of Gabriel’s magazines. There was even an enormous tree behind Hunter, whose spreading branches were occasionally illuminated by distant flashes of heat lightning. Ellie had always found those pulpy illustrations more silly than terrifying, but now, for the first time, she could really appreciate the horror those artists were attempting to evoke. And yet the scariest part wasn’t these men’s uncanny appearance, but why they were there, and what they were planning.

  “What fools men are,” said Jones.

  “At least Pop’s not out there with them,” muttered Ellie.

  “What?” She could feel Jones’s eyes on her. “The Robert he was talking about was your father?”

  Ellie had forgotten Jones didn’t know. “I’ll explain later.”

  “You bet you will.”

  “Generals!” cried Hunter, and Ellie felt the tightening in the air that meant something demonic was about to happen. She wished she knew where her friends were—and what weapons these men might be carrying under their robes.

  She wished a lot of things, actually.

  “Look,” said Jones. The fungal mass was heaving now, like some awful, formless creature in its death throes, until slowly, so slowly, it began to unfurl from below, or perhaps from within like an umbrella.

  “That’s what Fin said would happen. See you, Jones,” she said.

  Jones grabbed and squeezed her hand before she could run off. “Looking forward to that talk later,” he said, holding her gaze for a long moment. “Don’t stand me up.”

  Ellie scrambled for the tree line after hopping fully out of the tunnel, crouching in the underbrush to observe. Hunter was standing before his enrapt comrades, intoning some final words. As he did, she crept through the shadows of the underbrush, circling around to get behind him. Every twig-snap or leaf-rustle made her heart leap, but no one noticed her.

  Just as she got into position Hunter raised his knife. The enormous fungus spread wider, its cap separating into flabby petals that glowed from beneath. Ellie took a deep breath and ran into the clearing.

  “Stop!” she shouted as loud as she could, and then whooped like a cowboy in a Wild West show as a signal to her friends as she barreled straight at Hunter. He looked extremely surprised, to say the least, and took a step back.

  Ellie thought it all through; her plan had been to knock him down and get his knife-hand pinned so that he couldn’t cut himself or anyone else until Gabriel, Fin, SJ, and Aaron arrived to finish what she’d started.

  But she never reached him. Something hit her from the side, and she went down hard on her arm, her leg twisted beneath her. The last thing she saw was a flash of red cloth as one of Hunter’s generals loomed over her.

  5

  Ellie screamed as she struggled against her captors, remembering too well the last time this had happened. Her thrashing, then as now, had no effect.

  “Let me go!” She was being as loud as she could, hoping that the sound of her voice, her panic, would alert her companions to where she was if they hadn’t found the clearing yet. She trusted in Fin’s abilities, but with all the torches around, and the way she’d been carrying on, it felt strange they weren’t there yet. The wood behind Hunter’s house wasn’t that big. They should have found her by now . . . unless something had happened.

  “Will someone gag her already?” snapped Hunter. “And you—make sure she came alone.”

  Ellie resisted as they tried to force something between her teeth until her lips started to tear. As a sweaty sock was forced into her mouth she wondered why Jones hadn’t come to her aid, at the very least. After all, he’d insisted on coming along to help her if she needed it—and boy, did she need it.

  Ellie heard a shot ring out, and then a shout. She tried to look around to see what was happening, but her captors held her fast.

  “Cease your struggling,” said Hunter, the air tightening around them as he spoke, but Ellie didn’t listen. He put a hand on her head, and the feeling intensified, but again she shook it off. “My goodness,” he said. “You are willful.”

  “I found the shooter,” said one of the robed men, pushing Jones down on his knees before Hunter. His wrists were tied behind his back, and his nose was dripping blood. “Didn’t want to kill him; he’s a cop. But he killed Ernie—shot him right through the eye. I snuck around behind him and clobbered him, though. Never heard me—he had these in his ears.” The man opened his hand, revealing the wax pellets.

  “Curious,” said Hunter. He looked unsure of himself for the first time, which made Ellie inclined to think he hadn’t told his inner circle about his ability to change or control minds. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t marvel at the lengths some will go to avoid hearing a word of truth or righteous thought.”

  Hunter sheathed his knife and grabbed Jones under the chin and lifted his face up. “My generals! It is not too late for another miracle. Help me. Pray as I do that this man will step up and see the light,” said Hunter. “Let him see the path before him, as we have. With our recent losses, another recruit on the force will help us keep order after our success, after all.”

  The robed men all bowed their heads, but Ellie did not. She watched on in horror as Jones’s expression softened and his eyes glazed over.

  “Your faith is strong,” said Hunter to his fellows. “I think we’ve succeeded. His heart has been touched.”

  “And my eyes now see,” said Jones, his voice free of its usual irony or detachment. Ellie wanted to believe it was an act, but she knew better. “Let me help!”

  “No need to keep his wrists bound now,” said Hunter, satisfied. “But this little interlude has given me an idea. Our numbers have grown—it’s true. But why should we reduce them, even by one?” Hunter turned back to Ellie, his eyes wide and wild. “The vessel demands sacrifices of significance,” he said. “I thought to use myself to satisfy it, but here before me stands one who has been a significant thorn in my side in my efforts to create a better world. Why not make our savior’s final meal be one who has set herself against it, in spite of the advice of her elders and her betters—indeed, even her own father?”

  Ellie squirmed harder in her captors’ grasp.

  “Come now,” said Hunter, putting one pale hand on Ellie’s cheek. “You would have died in the coming cleansing anyway. Instead of a meaningless death, you will be the catalyst for a new era of hope and peace—something I would think even a scofflaw like yourself would see the value of.” Then, to Jones, he said, “Bind her.”

  Ellie tried to catch her friend’s eye, hoping to find some sign he was secretly still in control of himself. But no; his vacant eyes had none of their usual sparkle, and he bound her wrists behind her without a word. That’s when Ellie really knew he was bewitched; she figured that even if Jones had been acting his heart out, he couldn’t have resisted making some sort of joke about tying her up once Hunter’s attention was elsewhere.

  Hunter was assessing the area. “Find something to tie her to,” he barked. “If she thrashes, she’ll waste her precious blood.”

  “What about that tree?” said one of the men. He pointed up at a stout branch that reached out nearly over the mushroom-thing. Hunter frowned, but then seemed to judge it suitable.

  “String her up by the ankles,” he advised as they tossed one end of the rope over the branch. “We can’t have her kicking.”

  Her world literally upside down, Ellie felt hope abandoning her, flowing out of her as her blood soon wou
ld. They had failed; she could see no way out of this. As she watched the hideous undulations of the mushroom-thing begin anew, she was strangely reminded of the way the bay would lap against the side of her skiff as she tied it up. Soon there would be no bay, no boat, no Ellie West, and neither would there be anyone else alive to remember them or mourn their loss.

  After they’d wandered through the wood behind Hunter’s house for far too long, Fin realized she’d been played for a fool. This town was so small, it was impossible for it to contain a forest of the size they’d explored. Hunter had somehow managed to conceal his location within the wood. Of course he had. He had the power to change, to misdirect and deceive—she really ought to have figured out his trick more quickly.

  “Hurry,” urged Gabriel as Fin searched in her pack for the jar of jelly.

  “I’m sorry,” hissed Fin. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this situation, either!”

  “I know, I know.” Gabriel scanned the darkness as Aaron and SJ urgently conferred on some matter just out of earshot. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

  “She’ll be all right. It’s Ellie—and she has Jones with her.”

  A few mouthfuls of the warm, runny jelly and Fin felt her connection to the demon strengthen. It wasn’t like in The Ginger-Eaters; no voice spoke to her, reassuring her that all would be well; no soothing presence gave her guidance or instructions. Instead, she just saw the truth of their situation—how precarious a position they were in, and how slim were the chances of their success, especially now that their timing was off.

  Fin did not speak these words aloud. It didn’t matter—they had decided on a course of action, and Ellie was relying on them to follow through with it.

  She also now saw the importance of the disagreement Aaron and SJ were having. She listened in as she peered through the darkness, looking for any clue as to where they might find their friends, but could only discern a few words and phrases: “who cares,” “do what’s right,” and most ominously, “we’ll die.”