The Finisher

by David Baldacci

  Several deep breaths later, there was no blood in my mouth. I opened my eyes a teeny bit, thinking that if death were really horrible, I would only see a wee slice of the horribleness, at least at first.

  I looked straight up. The Noc stared straight down at me.

  I blinked and shook my head clear. I looked to the left and spotted a tree. I looked to the right and saw a ragged bush. I sniffed and smelled the grass. But I was inside, not outside, wasn’t I?

  Then I very nearly screamed.

  The chain was uncoiling itself from around me. As I watched, it fell away and then neatly coiled itself up next to me like a serpent. After a sliver of hyperventilating, I slowly sat up and tested my arms and shoulders for injury. I found none, though I was sore. I wasn’t even damp. There was not a trace of blood on me. As I stared ahead, I gasped.

  Stacks stared back at me, about twenty yards distant.

  How did I go from plummeting into an abyss all trussed up ready to drown to being outside and far away from where I had been? At first I thought I had dreamed the whole thing. But you dreamed in your cot. I was lying on the ground!

  I thought maybe I had not been in Stacks at all. Yet I had been. There was the chain as proof.

  And I felt inside my cloak pocket and pulled out the book that most definitely had been in my locker at Stacks. I had been in there. The jabbits had been after me. I had discovered a huge cavern where an immense battle had been displayed on the walls, along with the symbol of the three joined hooks. I had been hit by a wall of blood and plummeted over the edge to my certain death. And on the way down I had seen images of Wugs alive, dead and nearly dead.

  And now I was outside and my clothes were not even damp.

  I’m not sure that even my brother’s impressive mind could have wrapped itself around all that. I had to stop thinking about these events for a few slivers as I stood, doubled over and threw up. My knees shaky, I straightened and looked down at the coiled chain. I was afraid to touch it, but I tentatively reached out a finger.

  I kept reaching until my finger grazed one of the links. It felt warm to the touch, even though the metal should have been cold. I gripped the same link between two of my fingers and lifted it up. The chain uncoiled as I drew it upward. It was long. In the light of the Noc, it seemed to pulsate, glow even, as though it had a heart, which of course it could not. I looked more closely and saw that there were letters imprinted on some of the links. Together they spelled —

  D-E-S-T-I-N.

  Destin? I had no idea what that meant.

  I dropped the chain and it instantly curled back up. But the thing was, it never made a sound. I knew that when metal touched metal, it made noise. But not Destin apparently.

  I took a long step away from it, and the most incredible thing happened.

  The chain moved with me. It uncurled and glided along the ground until it was once more within an inch of my foot. I did not know what to make of this. It was so unimaginable that my mind simply refused to process it. I decided to focus on my most pressing issue. I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the book. A book was real, solid. A book I could understand. But because a book was real and solid, it also could be discovered. I pondered what to do.

  I had to hide it, but where? I started to walk. I thought it might help me think, but I really wanted to put considerable distance between me and Stacks, and the bloody twin jabbits.

  I had walked perhaps a mile, with the mysterious chain slithering next to me, when an idea skittered into my knackered mind.

  The Delphias’.

  I broke into a run and didn’t notice until a sliver later that the chain was flying along beside me. Literally flying, straight out, like a long stick. I was so stunned that I pulled up, breathless. It stopped right beside me and momentarily hovered in the air before falling to the ground and coiling up once more.

  Still breathing hard, I stared down at it. I took a step forward. It reared up as though ready to take off. I took another step forward and then a third. It lifted off the ground. I broke into a run. It rose completely off the ground, configured itself like a stick again and flew right next to me.

  I stopped and it stopped. It was like having a pet bird.

  I looked up ahead of me and then back at the chain. It hovered. Even though I had stopped, it seemed to be sensing my indecision. Could it have a brain as well as a warming heart?

  I don’t know what made me do it, but I reached out, grabbed the chain, looped it around my waist, tied a knot with the links to secure it and started to run. And that’s when it happened. I lifted off the ground maybe six yards and flew straight ahead. I didn’t realize I was screaming until I gagged when a bug flew down my windpipe. My arms and legs were flailing around me as I looked down. That was a mistake — the looking-down part. I pitched forward and zoomed right into the dirt and tumbled painfully along until I came to a stop in a crumpled heap.

  I lay there completely still. Not because I was scared, but because I thought I was dead. I felt the chain uncoiling from around me. It re-coiled next to me. I rolled over and tested myself for broken limbs and blood gushing out of fresh wounds in my body. I seemed to be all there, just bruised.

  I looked at the chain. It seemed remarkably calm for having just driven me into the ground. I stood on shaky legs and sure enough, it rose up with me. I walked, and it hovered next to me with every step. I was afraid to put it around my waist again. I was afraid to even touch it. So I just walked, keeping my distance. Well, I couldn’t really do that. Every time I moved away, it moved with me. Finally, I just walked straight ahead and it hovered next to me.

  Just over a mile later, I moved around the last bend and saw Delph’s cottage. I looked at the sectioned-off corrals and fenced paddocks. The creta’s huge silhouette loomed back at me from the far corner of his little enclosure. The young slep was sleeping standing up while leaning against the weathered boards of his home.

  The adar squatted in one corner, its foot still attached to the chain and the peg in the ground. Its great wings were pointed downward and it seemed to be sleeping in a cocoon of its own body. There was no sign of the whist hound. I hoped it was in the house with the Delphias. Whists could make a racket when disturbed.

  I pulled the book from my pocket and peered around. I needed something to put it in. The answer reached me as I looked over at the door in the little hillside. At the entrance was an old lantern, which I lit with a match from a box next to it.

  There was a very odd collection of things inside. There were great piles of salted and skinned dead birds and small creatures, which I assumed were food for the beasts. The enormous skin of a garm hung on one wall. I gave that a wide berth.

  There were animal skulls lined up on a large trunk, a creta’s and what looked to be an amaroc’s. The upper fangs were as long as my arm. On one shelf was a line of old metal boxes. I looked through them until I found an empty one. I slipped the book inside and closed the box tight. I grabbed a shovel from against the wall and went back outside.

  I dug a hole behind a large pine tree and put the box in the hole. I covered it back over and then spread pine needles over the earth.

  The creta was starting to stir in the corral and the adar’s wings were now open and it was staring at me. This was a little unsettling. The last thing I wanted was the thing talking to me.

  I hurried off down the dirt path and around the bend. I had decided to wrap the chain around my waist once more in case I met someone along the way. I didn’t know how I could explain a chain flying next to me. Now that I had separated myself from the book, I felt both relief and concern. At least no one could take it from me, but I was desperate to read it too. I wanted to know everything that Quentin Herms had collected in the Quag down to the tiniest detail. I told myself that I would come back as soon as I could, dig it up and read it from cover to cover.

  When I reached my tree, I climbed up. Settling down on the planks, I set my mind to thinking about things. I hiked my shirt and m
y sleeves up and my work trousers down and looked at the map again. The marks were still fresh and clear. From the map I could tell that the journey through the Quag would be long and difficult. It was vast and the terrain was harsh. It was fortunate for me, I thought, that I would never attempt the journey. But with that thought came a sudden depression that swept over me like a hunter’s net before the kill.

  As I slowly pulled my shirt down and my trousers up, I felt a slight tug around my waist. The chain was moving.

  I jumped up and tried to pull it off. It wouldn’t budge. I kept trying, my fingers digging painfully into my skin. It merely tightened around my waist. Duf had told me of serpents that do that. They squeeze the life right out of you.

  Suddenly I stopped panicking. My heart stopped racing. My breath returned to normal. The chain had stopped squeezing and fallen limp. I couldn’t believe it, but, well, I think it was simply giving me a … hug. A reassuring hug!

  I slipped the chain off and held it up. It was warm and my fingers felt good holding it. I went to the edge of my tree planks and looked down. A long way, about sixty feet in fact. I glanced at the chain and then looked around to make sure no one was watching. I didn’t think about it one sliver more. Despite what had happened last time, the confidence was there somehow. It wouldn’t let me down.

  I jumped.

  I plummeted down, the ground coming at me way too fast. Halfway down, the chain wrapped tightly around my waist and I landed gently, the heels of my boots barely making a dent in the dirt. The chain was still warm and the links moved slightly around my waist.

  I lifted my shirt and covered the chain with it, then drew a long breath and had an impossible thought. I might never take the chain off again. I looked around. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but then again, how could I not? I was closer to fifteen sessions now than fourteen. I was female. I was independent and stubborn and headstrong and probably many other things that I didn’t yet realize or didn’t know enough words to adequately describe. I also had never had much in my life. But now I had the chain. So I had to do what I was about to do.

  I took off running as fast as I could; I was light and nimble on my feet even with heavy work boots on. After twenty yards, I leapt into the air. The chain hugged me tight and up I went, straight up. I bent my head and shoulders forward slightly and leveled out into a horizontal plane. With my head up, my arms back by my sides and my legs together, I was like a metal projectile fired from a morta.

  I soared over trees and open land. My breath came quick, my hair forced back by the wind. I passed a bird and startled the thing so badly it spun downward out of control for a few feet until it righted itself. I had never felt so free in my life. My whole world had been Wormwood. I had been rooted here, never able to rise above it.

  Until now.

  A view of the village spread beneath me. It looked small, inconsequential, when before it had loomed so enormous in my life.

  And around Wormwood, like a great outer wall, was the Quag. I banked left and did a slow circle in the air. That way I could see the Quag all in one pass. It dwarfed Wormwood. But what I couldn’t see, even from this vantage point, was the Quag’s other side.

  I flew for a long time and then landed. The sky was brightening and I figured it was nearing the first section of light. I needed to get John to Learning and then I would head to Stacks. I flew back toward Wormwood, landed about a quarter mile from my digs and fast-walked the rest of the way. When I got back to Wormwood proper I received a shock.

  The cobblestones, which were usually quite empty at this time of light, were full of Wugs talking and walking in large groups.

  I stopped one of them, Herman Helvet, who ran a very nice confectionery shop and sold things I would never be able to afford. He was tall and bony with a voice as big as his body.

  “Where is everyone going?” I asked in confusion.

  “Meeting at Steeples. Special called ’twas,” he said breathlessly. “Just got the notice fifteen slivers ago. Got Wugs outta their beds, I can tell you that. Nearly scared me to the Hallowed Ground when they thumped on me door.”

  “Special meeting called by who?” I asked.

  “Council. Thansius. Morrigone. All of ’em, I ’spect.”

  “What’s the meeting for?”

  “Well, we won’t know that till we get there, will we, Vega? Now I got to budge along.”

  He hurried on to join what seemed to be all of Wormwood streaming out of the village proper.

  A thought hit me.

  John!

  I hurried to the Loons and found my poor brother sitting in front of it, looking scared and lost.

  When he saw me, he rushed forward and took my hand, squeezing it hard.

  “Where were you?” he said in such a hurt voice that my heart felt shattered.

  “I … I got up early and just went for a walk. So, a special meeting, then?” I asked, wanting to quickly change the subject so the shattered look on John’s face would vanish.

  “Steeples,” he said, his face now full of anxiety.

  “I guess we best get on, then,” I said.

  Many reasons for a special meeting crossed my mind as we walked.

  None of them would turn out to be right.

  WE CALLED THE place Steeples because it had one. John and I rarely went to Steeples anymore. Before my grandfather suffered his Event, and our mother and father went to the Care, our family would go to Steeples every seventh light and listen to Ezekiel the Sermonizer, always resplendent in his blindingly white tunic. It was not mandatory for Wugmorts to attend Steeples, but most went. Maybe it was simply to see the beauty of Steeples and listen to Ezekiel’s voice, which sounded like wind rushing between stands of trees, with the occasional thunder-thrust when he wanted to make a point as fiercely as a mallet introducing itself to a nail.

  When we arrived outside Steeples, Thansius’s carriage was there. We hurried past it and inside. I had never seen Steeples so crowded with warm bodies. As we took our seats near the back, I looked around. The ceiling was high and laced with beams of blackened, gnarled wood. The windows were fully thirty feet tall and located on both sides of the structure. I counted at least twenty colors in each of them, more than I had to choose from at Stacks. There were Wug figures embedded in them, looking properly pious. And there were beasts represented here too, I guess to show the evil of what was around us. I shivered as I saw a jabbit that took up nearly the entire length of one window. As I stared at it, I could only think that it was far more horrible for real than it was re-created in glass and color and placed in a wall.

  There was a high altar at the front of Steeples with a carved wooden lectern in the center of it. Behind the lectern, against the wall, was a face chiseled into the stone of the wall. This was Alvis Alcumus, who was said to have founded Wormwood. Yet if he founded the place, that meant he had come from some other place. I mentioned this once at Learning, and I thought the Preceptor was going to have me committed to the Care.

  I could see Thansius and Morrigone seated next to the lectern. As I continued to look around, it seemed to me that all of Wormwood was here, even Delph and Duf near the back on the right. And even those sentenced to Valhall were here, with their hands bound with thick leather cords and with the short-statured Nida standing next to them, fortunately without the great shuck.

  The Sermonizer stepped out from behind a screen of embroidered fabric that I had actually had a hand in making at Stacks.

  Ezekiel was neither tall nor short. He was not broad-shouldered like Thansius. He did not have large arms or a chest like the Dactyls, and there was no reason he should. I was sure he was quite muscular of brain and sinewy of spirit.

  Ezekiel paused to bow deeply to Thansius and then Morrigone before taking his place at the lectern. His tunic was the whitest white I had ever seen. It was like looking at a cloud. It was whiter even than Morrigone’s robe.

  He raised his hands to the ceiling and we all settled down. John snuggled next to me and I p
ut my arm protectively around his shoulders. His body was hot and I could tell there was considerable fear in his small chest. I could hear his heart hammering.

  Ezekiel cleared his throat impressively.

  “I thank all my fellow Wugmorts for coming this light,” he began. “Now let us incant.”

  Which of course meant let him incant while we sat silently and listened to his practiced eloquence. Listening to a sermonizer who above all loves to hear himself sermonize is about as much fun as having your toes sheared off by an amaroc. All bowed their heads, except me. I didn’t like looking down. That gave someone the opportunity to get the drop on me. And Cletus Loon was sitting perilously close by and had already glanced sideways at me twice, each time with a nasty grin.

  Ezekiel stared upward at the ceiling, but I supposed far beyond that, to somewhere perhaps only he could see.

  He closed his eyes and incanted long streams of words that sounded erudite and polished. I imagined him standing in front of a looking glass, practicing. I smiled at this thought. It gave Ezekiel a feeble dimension that I knew he would neither care for nor appreciate. When he was done, everyone lifted their heads and opened their eyes. Was it just me or did Thansius seem a trifle annoyed that Ezekiel had gone on so long?

  Ezekiel looked down upon us and said, “We gather this light for an important Council announcement.”

  I craned my neck a bit and saw the other Council members resplendent in their black tunics, sitting in a row in front of the altar and facing us. Jurik Krone was prominent among them. As I looked at him, he suddenly stared back at me. I quickly glanced away.

  Ezekiel continued. “Our fellow Wugmort Quentin Herms has gone missing. It has been the subject of much idle talk and fruitless speculation.”

  Thansius cleared his throat loudly enough for me to hear it in the back.