Then another figure slipped from the church. Smaller than Silas, slender with long dark hair, she came forward and knelt at Silas' side. She wrapped her arms around his legs, pressed her small, curved form into his legs and laid her head on his thigh. She turned to face Abraham and smiled wickedly. The dark symbol pulsed on her forehead, and her eyes glowed green and serpentine.
It crumbled as swiftly as it had built. The power of the light, the force of the song, shattered and fell to splinters of broken sound. Barbara Carlson' s voice dropped away from the song and rose in a long, heart-rending wail. The girl kneeling at Silas' feet was Elspeth, and she turned, locked her gaze onto her father's stolid face, and softly licked at Silas' leg through the pants. She rubbed herself against him shamelessly, then threw back her head and laughed out loud.
Barbara Carlson fell to her knees in the dirt, and Abraham barely stopped his forward progress in time to keep from tripping over her. Jacob Carlson stood his ground, but the man shook, his entire body caught in the tremor. The light in his hand wavered, guttered, and threatened to go out entirely. Harry George could take no more. Without looking back, the man charged.
Harry held the long wooden sword before him like a stake and surged up the stairs of the church toward Silas. Harry screamed his challenge and drove the blade forward, but Silas sidestepped nimbly. He brought his arm down on Harry's, and the blade fell from the older man's numbed grip. Harry stumbled past, and hands reached up from either side of the stairs. They drew him into the doorway of the church, and down. Serpents rose and Abraham saw at least three strike before Harry hit the ground.
Barbara tried to rise. Abraham never ceased chanting. He reached down with one hand and gripped Barbara by her shoulder. He lifted her and she staggered, but kept her feet. Jacob didn't move, but he sang. The song had wavered, lost and confused in the pounding rhythm of Greene's chant, but now its voice returned. Someone stepped from the shadows and stood at Abraham's side, where Harry had stood moments before. Abraham didn't know the man, but he carried a wooden stave, and he held it as Harry had held the blade. They wavered, just for a moment, then the song regained its strength, and Abraham took another step forward.
Silas grinned at him, stepped aside, and Abe saw straight down the center of the church. The light inside was a brilliant green now, and the walls were strung with sticky green fibers that dangled and danced in a non-extant wind. Abe stopped again, and the others barely caught the change in time. At the far end of the church, just in front of the curtains leading to the baptismal in back—and the pool—Katrina stood. She was held, her arms at her sides, and her legs spread. Greene's followers were all over and around her, their hands brushing her flesh. She was visible for just a second, saw Abe, and screamed. Then she was dragged through the curtains, and all hell broke loose.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Amos didn't know what to do. He heard the singing in front of the church, and he knew something was happening there. From where he stood in the rear, he saw the light inside the church flow to the far end, and it sent a shiver through him he couldn't explain. The light should stay put. It should just shine out of the sconces on the wall and the bulbs dangling from the ceiling and…well…light. Instead, it flowed past the windows and rippled along the walls like waves on a lake when something big is dropped into the water. That the wave was moving away from him was good, but where was Elspeth? Then he saw a shadowy stick figure emerge from the trees. Amos grew very still. Was this one of Greene's followers, or was someone else trying to use the back way in? Amos frowned. It was an old man. He could see the newcomer clearly in the moonlight. His arms and legs were so thin that what was left of his clothes draped over them like a shroud. His hair clung in matted clumps to his skull, and he walked like he was drunk, or sick. The man stopped, bent almost double, and coughed so hard and long that Amos thought he'd keel over and die, right on the spot, but a minute later the old guy was up and moving again. Amos saw him reach the rear door of the church, on the side by the baptismal pool, and decided he'd seen enough. Maybe he could slip in behind the old guy without being noticed. Maybe not. He couldn't do any good for anyone standing alone in the trees. The stick-man pulled the door to the church open and stepped inside. Amos followed about ten yards behind. He glanced to either side, saw nothing, and gripped the door. He pulled it open cautiously, glanced into the back room, and stepped inside.
It was a mistake. The second he was in the door, two figures dragged a third through the curtains from the front of the church. He recognized Elspeth at once, and called out to her. They both turned, spotted him, and at that same time he saw the dark marks on their foreheads and the green, glowing emptiness of their eyes. They dropped whoever it was they carried and turned to face Amos, who brought the shotgun up from his hip and aimed it dead at Tommy Murphy's chest.
Then he saw it. To his right, the pool bubbled like some sort of hot tub gone mad. The lights were on inside, and they made the water green, but it was more than that. The surface of the pool bowed up and lurched blindly for the side. It slapped once, slipped back, rose and came over the edge. Tommy started to laugh—his voice high pitched and crazed—and Elspeth advanced on Amos, her hand outstretched, licking her lips lasciviously, but he paid her little mind.
It was the thing in the pool that had his attention. It was crawling out. There was no head, but it had the body of a serpent—or a root? As it flowed up and out of that water, it grew more narrow and focused, writhing from side to side in hunger and searching for food.
Amos glanced once over his shoulder at his sister, who was almost close enough to touch him, and he staggered back. He spun in a single fluid motion, aimed the shotgun directly at the side of the pool. He pulled the trigger, and the blast was deafening in the small room. Then he pulled it again, releasing the second barrel into the already cracked side of the pool, shattering it and spraying water across the floor.
Without a glance back, he spun, grabbed Elspeth by the arm, and dragged her to the door. He flung it open and they were out, and he dropped the gun without a thought. Tossing his sister's suddenly weak and trembling body over his shoulder, Amos Carlson took off for the trees at a run and didn't look back.
Under the cover of the commotion Amos had caused, the old man slipped through the curtains and into the church. All backs were turned to him for the moment, and he made his way forward as quickly as he could. He used the pews to his right like crutches, leaning first on one, then the next until he reached the back of the crowd wavering and swaying just inside the door, threatening to burst out over Abraham and his followers in a green glowing wave.
Their skin was unnaturally pale, and in the green light it took on the sickly pallor of slime. Serpents slithered about his feet, but he knew them well, and they paid him no heed. A final fit of coughing shook him and he staggered. Something had loosened deep inside, and he knew it was not phlegm. The pain was white hot and burning and he used it, feeding it carefully into his arms and legs.
He brushed through the gathered congregation, pressed them aside and slipped sideways through the gaps. He reached the steps, and he saw the darkness hovering over Silas Greene. With a croaking cry he shot forward, put all his slight weight behind the blow and slammed into Silas from behind.
At the same moment Amos let the first blast of his shotgun fly into the baptismal pool, and that shock ran through the church, rippled through the walls and shot up through the floor. The congregation scattered, some thrown free of the front wall, and others tumbling over pews and into the aisles. Serpents wound and twisted their way under pews and into corners, and Silas tumbled forward.
Abraham watched from below as something small and dark darted out of the church and slammed into Silas Greene's back. He heard the report of the shotgun and the thunderous crack that followed. Silas fell straight at Barbara Carlson, who stood transfixed, and the second shot rang out through the sudden deafening silence. The shadows behind Silas wavered, but did not fade. The antlers plunged straigh
t through Barbara, who flung her arms in the air and screamed. She backed into Abraham, who backed away and nearly tripped over those coming up behind him.
They stood, and they stared as Silas found his hands and knees, shook his head and swung the huge shadow rack of horns. They stepped back, beyond that sweep, and waited. The other form, the smaller form that had toppled Silas from the steps, lay on the ground just behind Greene. He shook his head slowly from side to side and did not seem to be able to lift it from the ground.
Silas growled, a guttural sound rising from deep inside. It rose through the earth and stretched to the trees. He pressed suddenly up off the ground and turned. Ignoring Abe and his followers, Greene turned on the man who had pushed him, stalking the prone form like a big cat. He kicked the man in the side and flipped him to his back. Greene's strength had not dissipated, and though the green glow had dimmed in the church, it had not faded entirely. With each step Silas took in that direction, it strengthened perceptibly.
Then Silas stopped. He stared at the old man on the ground and his jaw dropped. He shook his head from side to side and the great shadow mimicked the motion.
"I'll be damned," Silas said. "Reverend Kotz. Now, this is a surprise."
The old man glared up at him. The fire in his eyes had not faded, and the set of his lips was grim. He saw the shadow hovering over and around Silas and he whispered a single word.
"Mine."
Silas shook his head and laughed. He circled Kotz once, then again, and each time his steps were quicker and the laughter louder. Then he turned, ignoring Kotz completely, and faced Abraham.
"This will end now, boy," he said. He closed his eyes and raised his hands. The glow in the church rose like a green flame. Those who remained behind and beside him rose as well, shook themselves, and formed around him like a wedge.
Abraham stood, numb with terror. The words had fled, and though the light at his back felt as strong as ever, he had no idea how to tap into that strength, or what good it would do him. He started to speak, to say something, anything to delay the moment that loomed before him.
Then it happened. With a sharp screech, Reverend Kotz rolled up off the ground. He had the long, tapered blade that Harry George had dropped clutched in both hands, and he drove it into Silas Greene's side. The blade bit, slid in easily between ribs and muscles, and drove straight through the little man's heart.
Silas stood still. His face took on a confused expression, and his hand came up to grip the wooden blade protruding from his side. He turned, stared down at Kotz, and his mind swam. He took a step forward, tried a second, and dropped to one knee.
The world swirled before him. He met Kotz's dark glare. The man whispered that single word again, "Mine," and Silas no longer saw the man. He no longer saw the church, or the clearing, and the strength of the darkness that had possessed and moved him slipped away. He saw a pit, dug into the dirt floor of a barn. He saw the glaring, hungry eyes of the wounded cock, the blood of a stronger, younger bird dripping from the spur attached to his leg. He felt the hands, dragging him back and away, but this time they slipped, and he fell. He tumbled headlong into that pit, and he heard Reverend Kotz's laughter follow him down.
As Silas collapsed, Jacob Carlson drew back and hurled the small lantern in his hand through the door of the church. It bounced once, shattered against a pew, and the oil inside washed out and over the floor. Flames licked for just a second at the center of that spill, then burst to life and roared upward.
Abraham, suddenly remembering Katrina, cried out and dove forward. He cleared Silas' prone form in a single leap, battered two stupefied members of Greene's congregation aside, and with his hands over his face to shield him, leaped through the flames and into the church beyond.
The interior was dark. The lights had gone out, and the heat from the flames seared his skin as he passed. The smoke was already thick, but he ignored it. He kept low, felt something slither past his leg, bit back a scream and drove on. The snakes were frantically slithering away from the flames, flowing like a serpentine river in the same direction he ran. He passed through the pews, around the altar, and ahead he saw something on the floor. He ran faster, and as he drew near he saw it was a body.
The fire rolled down the walls and flickered across the beams of the ceiling. It was hotter and moved faster than any fire should, and Abraham knew he had only a few moments, maybe seconds, before it would consume him as well. The cleansing had begun.
He reached Katrina's prone form and scooped her up. Something slashed at his leg, missed, then slashed again and bit deep. One of the snakes. He couldn't worry about it. He turned, just for a second, and nearly dropped Katrina in shock.
At the far end of the church, the flames centered on the small alcove above the door. Something crawled from that pit as he watched, dragging itself on serpentine, ropy tendrils like some great, ugly crab. It broke free of the shadow, just for a second, and glared at him. The force of that glare drove through him and he staggered back. He nearly lost his footing in the spilled water from the pool, then turned and stumbled toward the door. Others were there ahead of him and it was open.
Abraham tumbled out the door, kept his feet long enough to reach the trees beyond the clearing, and stopped. He was nauseous, and his leg burned like fire. He knew it had probably been a rattlesnake, and the worst thing he could do was to get the blood pumping faster through his system, but he had to get Kat away from the flames.
Then strong arms grabbed his shoulders. He struggled, but he was too weak. Kat was taken from his arms, and he felt himself lifted. He glanced up then and saw the roof of the white church collapse in on itself. A huge, horrid face lifted from the blaze, eyes turned to the sky. The scream reverberated down the mountain. It wasn't pain, but fury. Then the walls fell in over the roof, and Abe's eyes crossed. He dropped into darkness and knew no more.
TWENTY-NINE
Abraham woke to bright sunlight. It streamed in through an unfamiliar window, striped by half-closed blinds, and warmed his face. He shook his head and tried to sit up, but a hand dropped gently onto his shoulder, and he turned. Katrina sat beside him. Her face was pale, and her eyes were lined from lack of sleep, but she smiled shyly at him.
"Where are we?" he asked, avoiding all of the things he knew they were going to have to say. "What happened?"
"Either of those questions could take days to answer," she said. "Is there a short version?" At that moment there was a light knock on the door, and Barbara Carlson entered. She carried a tray with a steaming bowl on it and a ceramic cup. Abe scooted back and managed to lean on the headboard, with Kat's help propping the pillow behind him. As he came more fully awake, his ankle throbbed, and he groaned.
"Take it easy," Barbara said with a smile. "That bite isn't healed. You're lucky we got to you in time." Bits and pieces of memory dropped into place like parts of a jagged puzzle. Abe closed his eyes. "Did we…?" He couldn't finish the sentence. "The church burned," Barbara replied. "Harry and Jacob have been over there sifting through the ashes. Some of the others started digging a pit off to one side. We're going to shovel the ashes into the hole and build a mound on top."
Abe nodded. He'd planned something similar before they started down the mountain.
Barbara sat the tray on his lap and the scents of chicken soup and hot tea made his mouth water. He realized very suddenly that he was hungrier than he could ever remember being. As he reached for the spoon, he turned to Kat.
"How long have I been out?" he asked.
"Two days," she replied. "I've been right here…"
There was a slight catch in her voice. Abe looked around the room and saw that there was no cot. The chair she sat in had a blanket draped over the arm.
"Have you slept?" he asked her.
"I caught a little rest," she replied. "I was worried. I…"
"She's a very strong girl," Barbara cut in, breaking the awkwardness of the moment. "Strong and good. You've done well for yourself, Abe."
"I know," he said.
He ate in silence for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He had too many questions. He also had a hell of a lot of explaining to do, and he didn't know where to start with that, either. On top of that, he'd lost two days.
"It was a timber rattler that bit you," Barbara told him. "It was a big one. You must have stepped on him on the way out. No one else was bitten; the snakes were in too much of a hurry to get away from that fire."
"It wasn't the fire." Katrina said this with conviction, and both Barbara and Abe turned to her curiously. "They were rushing out around me before there was a fire. I was standing in the doorway, by the curtains, and they slid over my feet, around my legs—hundreds of them. I've never seen so many snakes."
Abe dropped the spoon onto the tray and reached out to lay his hand on her leg. She put her own on top of his, but she didn't look at him. Her gaze was far away, and he wondered what she saw—what she remembered.
He wasn't sure what he remembered. His last memories were of fire and impossible images in the flames. He knew what he'd faced, and what he'd seen, but now he leaned back on perfectly ordinary pillows in a plain, ordinary room with sunlight pouring in the window. His leg ached, and he knew he'd been bitten, but it was impossible. His hand strayed absently to the medallion still hanging around his neck. Something was odd, and he glanced down.
He wore two. Someone had found his mother's necklace in his pocket and hung it around his neck beside his own. He remembered how she had hung in the trees. He flashed on the hedges. His arms still bore scars from the thorns.
He closed his eyes, and he saw the front of the white church, moonlight spilling down through the trees to illuminate its surface. Green light poured from the windows, and Silas Greene stepped into the doorway. The images tumbled forward and he saw the skinny old man on the ground, the fallen sword and the death stroke.
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