by John Darnton
Kellicut sat on a boulder and reached into his shirt pocket. The movement caused his guards to stiffen but Kee-wak did not stir. Slowly, Kellicut pulled out his own sketch of Matt’s blueprint for the creation that mocked the renegades’ godhead. He opened the paper, held the sketch before him, and stared at it, concentrating on the lines and trying to view it as a whole. Inside the godhead, Kellicut had given away the secret, drawing something that Matt had not drawn: figures, soldiers lying inside the belly, waiting to attack. Now he stared directly at the figures, which he had drawn as realistically as possible. He looked over at Kee-wak to see if he was taking it in, but he didn’t really have to since he felt Kee-wak inside of him, looking as he looked at the paper trembling in his hands.
Thank God, Kellicut thought, the message is getting across; Matt’s scheme can be neutralized. He did not see Kee-wak make a tiny motion with one hand. But something else suddenly floated into his mind, a vision. He was using the power, he realized; he had conquered it at last. The vision focused and took shape—it was the back of a head, his own head. Why his own head?
He did not have time to ward off the blow that came from behind and struck his neck like a blade, so powerfully and perfectly placed that it cut right through his spinal cord. His death was instantaneous, which was just as well, since his last thought was hopeful. The optimism was engraved on his face, slumped over, resting upside down on his chest.
Matt found a good spot to make the structure, a small, picturesque glen close to the mouth of the cave. It was separated from it by a row of pines, which would allow them to work in relative seclusion, provided they worked quickly.
He walked over to the edge of the pines and peered at the cave. The comforting scent of pine needles rose up from the soft ground, reminding him of the Vermont mountains he loved to roam in the autumn.
Mentally he charted a path for the godhead to reach the cave. There was one difficult stretch, but for the most part the ground ran slightly downhill. Once the structure was built, they should be able to roll it all the way to the cave mouth, using the rounded logs two at a time and switching the back ones to the front as they went. He hoped the hominids could grasp the concept because they would be doing most of the heavy lifting. Once the damned thing was in place, the rest would be up to the renegades.
He and Sergei had arrived early. A group led by Hurt-Knee and Tallboy was carrying the construction materials to the site. They still refused to cross the burial ground, so they had had to carry the branches and huge logs around the periphery, twice the distance and across more difficult terrain. But they arrived in good time and hadn’t even worked up a sweat.
Matt stowed his rucksack in the crotch of a tree. It contained the special items, including the one he worked on late into the night, which he would install later as the finishing touch, when no one else was around.
He put his sketches in a line on the ground. He had made eight drawings, one of the overall design and others of individual parts and joints. The most difficult job would be constructing the body and the head and making them look like the godhead in the cave. That would be hard enough even with real lumber and with a proper hammer and nails, he said to himself, but this way ... he didn’t even finish the thought.
They laid their tools out and examined them, a rudimentary assortment of vines, bones, chipped stones, heavy round rocks, bits of wire, and thin slivers of flint. At least he had his pocketknife.
Sergei seemed to be reading his thoughts. “The tools may be prehistoric,” he said. “But the minds behind them are twentieth century.” He smiled encouragingly.
They chose two of the thickest logs for the base and laid them parallel. Two more logs were laid across them at either end, like a raft, and lashed in place with vines. They attached beams extending upright, and then built two platforms high in the air for the body, securing the joints by hammering in slivers of bone and rock. Heavy branches were set in place like ribs until the frame was strong enough to stand in. Reluctantly, Matt abandoned the idea of a trap door in the belly; instead, he left an opening between branches and covered it with animal hides.
Matt stood on the platform, inside the belly of the godhead, and stepped to the edge and wiped his brow. From where he was, he had to admit that the structure looked impressive. It was about twenty feet off the ground and it was solid.
Then he saw Longtooth emerging from the woods, striding purposefully. Behind Longtooth came two younger hominids, carrying something on their heads and staggering under the weight. It was long and dark and, as they approached, Matt could see a huge round head and black fur. Longtooth had succeeded in his mission—he had killed a cave bear. Now the godhead would be an exact replica.
Sergei leaped up and gawked, his mouth open. He ran over to examine the bear hide and hugged Longtooth, who was hard put to disguise his satisfaction. Then the two joined the others in building and quickly finished off the hollow body, filling in the sides with tightly packed branches and then draping animal hides over them to complete the illusion of a monster.
Next came the head. Matt crafted a hideous-looking lower jaw, careful to leave large holes for the mouth and nostrils. They would be needed later. Across the top half of the face he placed the bear’s head, with its mean and tiny eyes. The black fur hung down the back and around the front of the neck like a collar, so that the effect was the same as that of the godhead in the main cavern: to inspire fear.
Matt jumped to the ground and inspected his handiwork. It looked to be a dead ringer for the original, even in daylight, and it seemed possessed by the same malevolent spirit. The hominids looked at it apprehensively and kept their distance.
As they had discussed, Sergei slipped away to construct a secret hiding place. He searched the area for quite a while until he found the perfect spot, a narrow ridge that was not far from the cave mouth but that dipped down out of sight. First, he dug a wide shallow pit. He covered it over with logs that looked much the same as the logs used for the body of the godhead. Then he tossed skins on them. He squeezed inside to examine it. The darkened interior was cramped, but it had room enough for six.
“Mission accomplished,” said Sergei, when he rejoined Matt. He stared up at the godhead, which loomed above like some malignant force. “So that represents an advance in terms of civilization?” he said, shaking his head. “What kind of god do you think it is?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Man. “But I’d say it’s connected with the hunt and with shedding blood. The cave bear is almost a deity; he rules the mountain. There is nothing that does not fear him and nothing that he fears. So it’s natural that they would look up to him as they turn to killing and eating meat. We know from prehistoric burial grounds that to them the cave bear was sacred.”
Sergei shuddered. “I’m not sure you’re right,” he said. Matt clapped him on the back and they got going.
With the help of the hominids, they placed the rolling logs underneath the base platform. Then they all took up positions and, straining with all their might, they pushed at the giant statue until it began slowly to creak and then finally to inch forward. Others pulled on vines attached to the body. They pushed and pulled harder and harder, and it began to roll. They placed two more logs ahead of it and retrieved the two left behind. In this way, they kept the structure moving over level ground until at long last, half an hour later, it sat directly in front of the cave entrance.
They aligned the spare logs between the godhead and the cave mouth and left the vines for tugging hanging down. At last, the finished creation was in place, ready for occupancy. Matt put on his rucksack and climbed back into the structure. He entered the belly through the flap of loose skin, squeezed up through the neck into the empty head, and did what he came to do.
Then he went back into the belly, and finally he climbed out and dropped to the ground. He hammered a stake into the earth, attached something to it, and left. As he moved toward the glen, he noticed that the sun was already
well past the meridian. Soon it would be late afternoon, hunting time, when the creatures would stir out of their lair. He had to pray that they would come, that they would send out sentries or perhaps another raiding party. He turned to look back at the godhead. It was evil and majestic, standing there with the sun glinting off the black fur, a giant offering, a tribute not to be refused. He understood at once the mendacious creativity behind the Trojan horse, the supreme joke of the poisoned gift that cannot be turned down.
He turned at the glen and went to the ridge, where he joined Sergei, who was dozing. He lay in the long, warm grass and felt exhaustion overcome him, but he could not risk falling asleep. He had to keep watch. The real struggle had not yet begun. He knew he would soon need all the reserves of energy he possessed.
Susan had slipped one hand out of the snare but she kept it behind her most of the time to fool them. Her caution was largely superstitious; she knew enough about their powers to believe that they could not view her from afar, that they could only see through her own eyes. But she didn’t want to take any chances. She did use one hand to lift the half skull that Kee-wak had dropped. It still had a bit of brown water resting at the bottom, but it smelled too foul to drink.
She could see no way out of the pit. The wall was too sheer to climb. There was a promising ledge high up on one side. If I could grab it, I could pull myself up, she thought. But it was too high to reach, even by jumping. She’d have to stand on something.
Susan was still upset by her encounter with Kee-wak. She knew with certainty that he would be back, and her trick was unlikely to work a second time. She pocketed the mirror anyway, just to have it handy. A sixth sense told her that something was up in the cavern above, a restlessness that suggested some activity or ceremony was about to take place. It could be preparations for my own sacrifice, she thought.
She dreaded pain. She always had. It wasn’t death she feared as much as torture. And these monsters were capable of torture, not for some nefarious end but simply because they were so lacking in empathy they didn’t bother to weigh the consequences of their actions.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a hubbub above. She looked up but it was hard to see, because glare from burning torches washed out everything but the stout legs standing on the rim of the pit. In the accentuated darkness there seemed to be a line of creatures holding something, a shroud perhaps—was it the gown she was to wear as a death maiden?—and now they held it directly over the wall and let it go. It fell heavily and hit the bottom of the pit with a thud and she could see, in the pool of light, an arm unbending, then a leg. It was a body, a human body. The creatures left. Slowly, cautiously, she approached it, bent over, moved her hand from behind her back, and turned it over. It was Kellicut! His face was distorted, terribly shrunken somehow, and his eyeballs were glazed and bulging. As she gasped and let the corpse fall back, it fell on its belly and she could see a thick deep wound at the top of the spine. She could see through the wound and right into the skull and she screamed and screamed again, because she could see the inner bone. The skull was empty. The brain was missing.
The creatures crept out of the cave slowly, staring up at the godhead as if it might strike them down at any moment. Some blinked, as though they were looking at the sun. They surrounded it, and the brave ones approached it and then held out their hands tentatively and touched the wooden base upon which it sat.
From the hiding place, Matt watched them nervously as he fought down a new worry: Maybe the deity was too ferocious, maybe they would not summon up the courage to move it. Everything depended on their transporting it inside the cave. He had convinced himself that that would be their instinctive response, but perhaps he had misjudged them; perhaps he was too unable to enter their mental world and predict their behavior. He still felt in his gut that one among them, Kee-wak himself, would want to make that creation his own, possess it, use it to magnify his power.
At precisely that moment, as if Matt had conjured him up, Keewak appeared in the mouth of the cave. There was no mistaking his tall, gaunt silhouette and the collar of monkey fur that thickened his brow. Matt saw the handle of the revolver glinting in the sunlight as the creature stood tall, taking in the godhead and then—the only one to do this—scanning the horizon.
Quickly Matt ducked inside the hideaway. His knee struck Sergei’s back and together they huddled in the darkness while the mysterious, dangerous sensation crept into the cortex, starting at the center and expanding outward like ink in water. Sergei was frightened. He gripped Matt’s arm and squeezed it so tight he cut off the circulation, until Matt reached over and patted him on the knee. Soon the sensation passed.
“Don’t worry,” said Matt. “That was just a little exploration. It’s probably safe to go outside now.”
From the ridge they watched as the creatures labored like Lilliputians to haul the gigantic structure into the cave. Some pushed and others pulled but it wasn’t until they figured out the tow lines that they were finally able to budge it. Matt was silently urging them on, resisting the impulse to shout directions on how to use something as elementary as the wheel. Then the concept seemed to dawn on them, and slowly the construction moved forward on its rollers, awkwardly, like a schooner sailing into an uncertain breeze. It seemed to take forever but finally it arrived at the cave mouth, lingering there for a bit while the small dark figures in the distance cleared rocks away. Then at last the godhead moved forward and was gobbled up by the dark hole.
“Let’s go!” shouted Matt, and he was off and running before Sergei was out of the hideaway. They ran down the ridge, across the clearing, and up to the side of the cave. Matt listened; there was a cacophony of noise, of stones smashing, logs rolling, grunts, footsteps, shuffles, and creaks, but none of it sounded close by, and he slipped inside. Sergei was right behind him. They waited some moments for their eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, flattening themselves against the cave wall to avoid daylight as a backdrop. Ahead, just where the tunnel curved, they could see the godhead moving like a ship of state and turning to show its side, its features distorted by the lights of torches and casting hideous shadows upon the rock. Out of nowhere, the pounding of the drums began, low, steady and ominous.
Matt had to consciously hold himself back. When he judged that enough time had passed, he stole along the tunnel with Sergei behind him until he reached the bend, and there he stopped to peer around the smooth rock face. The scene before him was nightmarish. The godhead occupied the center of the cavern, seeming even larger indoors and twice as hideous surrounded by the jagged edges and daggers of stalactites and stalagmites. Bats fluttered and careened around its bear’s scalp. Warriors surrounded the godhead on all sides and, as Matt was quick to note, they carried their clubs and spears. To one side drummers flailed their instruments, dark wooden bowls stretched tight with skins. Others carried flaming torches. And presiding over it all, dressed in his usual regalia, sitting on a carved stool that served as a throne, was Kee-wak.
Kee-wak stood and the drummers stopped. He stared up at the godhead above him, seemingly uncertain. He appeared to read it, again and again, as if to decipher its secret. They all stared at the hideous icon. Then Kee-wak made a gesture and other creatures carried armloads of wood, which they piled around the base of the structure. When this was done, the drummers started up again, but Kee-wak silenced them. He stood again and stared at the icon, trying to ferret out its mystery, to reach every corner of its insides with his powerful seeing eye. Something, somewhere, was wrong. Dead wrong. At that moment, from within the godhead, arose a cry, at first tentative but quickly insistent, a high-pitched whine, a sound of keening. It was the hominids’ cry of alarm. The creatures dropped back in fright, falling over one another in surprise. But Kee-wak rushed ahead almost as if he expected such a thing. He grabbed a torch and with feverish movements lit the wood, rushing around the entire base until flames licked up from all sides.
He threw the torch down an
d stepped back as fire consumed the godhead. It burned up the beams until it reached the belly, scorching the wood and then igniting it. The drummers started up again, and the smoke rose to cover the vaulted ceiling, agitating the bats so that the roof turned into a squiggling, chattering mass of heads and wings. Then something unexpected, most unexpected, happened.
From somewhere within the bowels of the deity came a roar and a steady beat and the music of Bruce Springsteen suddenly burst out into the cave, echoing up and down with a mad intensity. “Born in the U.S.A ...” And just then the flames crawled up the neck and reached the head and the beast appeared to rear back, its eyes and mouth split open, and it spit out fireballs, colored flames that flew out twenty feet and more. They scorched the cave wall, struck the floor, and turned the once cool cavern into an inferno of smoke, flame, and ash, with the bats flying above and the music pulsating throughout, up and down the tunnels.
The creatures panicked. Driven by the vision of the avenging deity, picking everyone up in their path, they fled through the main cavern and kept going, deep into the cave, the music biting at their heels. With them, running flat out and pushing others out of his way, was Kee-wak. In the cavern he paused a moment and ran over to the pit. It was empty, save for Kellicut’s body, which had been pushed up against one side underneath a rocky ledge so the prisoner could escape. Kee-wak screamed in fury and then ran on with the others, as fast as he could, until they came to the upper reaches of the cave and the main entrance. There they piled outside and into the safety of the deep snow, floundering in the depths of the newly fallen drifts.
