Necessary Monsters

by Richard A. Kirk

  "This island is an evil place, no question there," said Jansson.

  "Places aren't evil, people are," said Moss. He wondered how far Jansson's farm was.

  "You're talking about the witch?"

  "Just speaking philosophically, Mr. Jansson."

  "She's not human. But I'll grant that you do have a point about people being evil. A man has to be careful who he keeps company with."

  Moss stopped and turned to Jansson. "Is there something that you want to say to me?"

  Jansson kept walking. "Just passing the time," he said. "Don't get yourself all worked up." Moss let Jansson take the lead and fell into step with Imogene.

  "For a forbidden island, this place is pretty crowded," said Imogene. She drove her walking stick into the muddy ground. "It seems to have a high per capita rate of crazy."

  "It's like any island, I guess," said Moss. "Everything is condensed." He continued walking beside her. It was now an hour past daybreak. Jansson walked in front, out of earshot, chewing on a cold beef sandwich that he had pulled from his pocket.

  "Why is he here?" asked Imogene. "How far can his farm be? We've been walking for ages."

  "I don't know." Moss dropped his pack and sipped from a canteen. Imogene stopped to wait.

  "Ask him where Memoria is," she said. "I bet these people know."

  "Already have," said Moss. "Says he doesn't know. Never heard of her."

  "I think he's lying. A woman traveling alone on this island would not be a secret for very long." Imogene lowered her pack to the ground and sat on it. "You said they were spying on us the whole time."

  "The same thought crossed my mind." Moss wrapped his fingers around the ocellus, which he had been keeping discreetly out of sight. It was smooth and pleasant to the touch.

  "Let's lose him. This can't be the only way," said Imogene.

  "What is he doing now?" asked Moss. Jansson had stopped. He was probing the ground with a long stick.

  "Poking a stick into the dirt," said Imogene. Moss did not answer. He looked at the ground to either side of where they had just been walking.

  "Don't move," he said.

  "What is it?"

  "Right there. Do you see it?" Moss directed her gaze to a spot about ten feet away.

  "I don't see—" Her eyes grew wide. "Is that a landmine?"

  "It's an antipersonnel mine," said Moss. "Designed to blow your legs off. When I was a kid, I found a few of them on the beach. That one looks old. Jansson led us into an old minefield."

  Imogene looked around the field. "How many?"

  "Hundreds, maybe. There's no way to tell. Most of them would be buried under years of grass. That one must have been pushed up by the frost."

  Moss cupped his hands around his mouth. "Jansson! This is a minefield." The man was quite far ahead. He acknowledged Moss with a shrug and a wave. "Jansson!"

  From the top of a hillock Jansson shouted back. "We know what she is." He pointed at Imogene. "Some of us don't agree with May. It's not right to let her go free. It's begging for trouble. I'm putting an end to this nonsense. Good day now." His shock of white hair blew up in the breeze like a cockscomb. He turned his back and lit his pipe. Moss yelled after him, but he wove an irregular path, with his hands in his pockets.

  "He's bluffing." Imogene locked eyes with Moss. "Moss, right?"

  "I'm not sure he is. I can see the edge of another one, there. Pick up your pack. We'll go back the way we came. We can retrace our footprints. The ground is soft enough." Moss led them slowly back along the muddy track. Imogene walked in his footprints, hands resting on his pack. In twenty minutes they reached a rocky outcrop. They followed the stony, well-used path at its base, away from the field. Rounding a corner, they ran into several men with rifles, nervously waiting where the outcrop sunk into the ground. The group was monochrome in the dawn light. They scrambled to block the path.

  Moss and Imogene stopped. One man with severe overbite lifted his rifle to his concave shoulder and pointed it at Imogene.

  "You can't come back this way. That was the arrangement."

  Moss looked past the men to see if there were others nearby, or if the group was acting alone. A figure on a bicycle tottered toward them along the winding path. It was unmistakably Master Crow. Everyone turned at the contraption's clatter and bell dinging. Nobody spoke as Master Crow rode up, breathless, and dismounted. The bicycle shuddered down a fence post despite his efforts to lean it carefully.

  "Bernard, put that thing down," he said. "You're not going to shoot an unarmed woman."

  "You know what she is, Master Crow, and she's not coming back to Oak Hall." He lowered the gun slightly, uncertain. "Don't look at her directly."

  "Jansson led us into a minefield up that way," said Moss. Several of the men smirked knowingly. "We don't want to go back to the hall. We just want to go around it the other way."

  "What's the matter with you?" said Master Crow, to the men.

  "You know. You saw it yourself." Bernard lowered the gun with a warning look at Moss and Imogene. He walked closer to Master Crow. "She was drawn, and she came back. You wouldn't come back the same from something like that."

  Moss and Imogene looked at each other.

  "What would you know about it?" said Master Crow.

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying not everyone is as big a fool as you, Bernard Foster."

  "We'll see who's a fool," said Bernard. He turned quickly and, raising the gun, fired at Imogene. Imogene had already begun to turn. The bullet missed and tore into her backpack. Moss leaped forward and shoved Bernard's rifle barrel skyward. He brought his knee up, driving it solidly into the man's abdomen. Bernard dropped the rifle. Moss shoved him backwards as Imogene rushed for the weapon. There was a second shot. Bernard jolted and reeled back along the path. Someone had shot Bernard from a distance. He took three steps and crumpled sideways. The rest of the men broke ranks and ran for cover.

  "Run," yelled Master Crow. Moss grabbed Imogene's hand and pulled her off the path, away from the direction of the minefield. They ran for the concealment of a birch copse. Another gunshot cracked and echoed. One of the escaping men sprawled on the ground. Moss and Imogene ran with Master Crow close behind.

  "Who's shooting?" panted Imogene.

  "I couldn't see. They must have been on higher ground," Master Crow said. "Maybe from the silo. They would seem to be on your side, whoever they are."

  "Keep going," said Moss over his shoulder. "It won't be long before those men regroup."

  They stopped to catch their breath under the cover of the trees. The sun illuminated the upper branches, but the underbrush remained deep in shadow. Moss stood at the base of a large tree and scanned the area they had come from. In the distance, Bernard Foster lay on the ground, unmoving. It was not possible to see the other fallen man. The silo Master Crow had mentioned was washed in gold against the sky, but there was no discernible movement. For a moment, Moss had half expected to see Gale, until he remembered the man was dead.

  "Shit, that was close," said Imogene at his shoulder. Moss turned and grabbed her.

  "Are you hurt?" He stuck his finger in the hole in her pack.

  "Just shocked. These people are insane."

  "They're scared," said Master Crow. "Bernard had two children. He knows what happened to Jansson's daughter."

  Imogene strode over to Master Crow and pointed a finger in his face. "Do I look like I am in the mood for a fair and balanced discussion? If I hadn't turned, that asshole's bullet would be lodged in my liver."

  "I'm sorry," said Master Crow.

  "Stay away from me." Imogene walked back to Moss. "So?"

  "Now we head into the center of this island and try to find Memoria before anyone else gets there first." He pulled the ocellus out of his pocket and tossed it into the air. It spun like a top before coming to a rest directly above him.

  "What about him?"

  "I'm coming with you," said Master Crow, watching the glowing
stone. "I can take you to Little Eye." He looked meaningfully at Moss. "You're not the only one who made a promise."

  CRUCIBLE

  After three days of hiking they came upon the wreckage of the Crucible. A concave shell of grey metal was wedged between the two sides of a gorge, with a deafening river fifty feet below. It formed a shallow bowl for a mirror of stagnant water. Imogene said it looked like a bridge, but to Moss's eye it looked more like a piece of art. It was difficult to imagine the craft that would have incorporated so unlikely a shape. It would have been dangerous if not impossible to access the wreckage as it lay at least thirty feet below the level of the narrow path they had just negotiated.

  Moss and Imogene sat on a rock ledge with their feet dangling over the void. On the other side of the gorge, the trees were sparse and the forest floor was littered with leaves and needles. The sun felt good on their skin. All around them, birds gathered in noisy groups or flitted from tree to tree. The air smelled of pine resin. Master Crow had climbed the higher ground behind them to see what could be seen. They had grown used to this quiet man. He had proven to have a reliable instinct for the best trail. Master Crow's chief concern was that men were following them from the Oak Hall. Moss had seen no evidence of this but was grateful for the other man's vigilance.

  "There's more of it down in the gorge," said Moss. Imogene had leaned back on the carpet of needles, using the edge of her pack as a pillow. She had taken off her jacket and pulled her T-shirt up, letting the sun warm her stomach. She murmured sleepily. Moss ran his fingers lightly across her skin tracing the curve of an inked line. Imogene smiled.

  "Be good," she said unconvincingly. Moss lay down beside her and rested his cheek on her stomach. It was firm and warm. He could feel her heartbeat and it made his own quicken. "How long do you think Master Crow will be gone?" Moss felt her fingers on his neck.

  Dead pine litter crackled behind them. Moss sighed. He sat up and turned around, expecting to see Master Crow. Instead, he saw Jansson crouching a mere twenty feet away. Moss shook Imogene. She sat up quickly.

  "What? What's the matter?" she asked.

  Realizing that he had been spotted, Jansson stood up, grinning, and walked toward them. Moss and Imogene stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, Moss could see Master Crow scrambling down the hill behind Jansson.

  "What do you want?" asked Moss. Jansson walked toward him shaking his head with a disappointed expression. He held a rock in his right hand. His fingers were whitened in a tight grip.

  "You're right, you know," Jansson said. "It is people who are evil. And there's none more evil than her kind."

  "Back off, asshole," said Imogene. Moss tried to keep her behind him but she was having none of it. She stepped around him. "What do you know about me?"

  "Imogene," said Moss. He held out his hand.

  Jansson came closer. The spot on his lip where the stem of his pipe habitually rested was glossy and purple. "It's your kind that took my little girl. You and your demented magic. You should be burned. You're a disease."

  Moss put himself between Jansson and Imogene. "She had nothing to do with what happened to your daughter," said Moss. "Let's keep our heads and talk."

  Jansson flinched. Moss saw what was coming. Something in the other man's stance, the movement of muscles in his shoulder registered in Moss's mind. "Imogene, get down," he yelled. It was too late. Jansson hurled the stone. It split into two halves against Imogene's head and flew out over the gorge. There was no blood, just a red mark that started to immediately swell as she staggered into Moss's arms.

  "What have you done, you crazy bastard?" screamed Moss. Jansson lunged at Imogene, grabbing at her hair. Moss swung, landing a fist in the base of Jansson's skull. Still holding Imogene, the man staggered back toward the ledge.

  "Stop." Moss leapt forward, grabbing wildly at Jansson's legs. Imogene was limp. "Jansson, please," begged Moss. "Please." Jansson fell backward, taking Imogene with him. Moss raced to the edge and would have followed them over if two arms had not seized him around the waist and flung him to the side.

  "Moss! She's gone," said Master Crow. Moss broke free of Master Crow's arms. Looking down he could see Jansson's body lying submerged in the water pooled in the Crucible's wreckage.

  There was no sign of Imogene. She had fallen into the rushing cataract.

  Moss implored Master Crow, "I have to get down there."

  "She couldn't have survived. There are too many rocks, Moss."

  "I am not leaving her." Moss grabbed Master Crow's arm. "Help me get down there."

  "Okay," said the other man. "It won't be easy."

  And it was not easy. The gorge was deep and fissured. Using roots and branches as handholds they descended a steep path, barely maintaining their footing on the rocks. Moss pushed himself forward heedless of the danger. Master Crow moved at a more deliberate pace, but always keeping his companion in view. The enormity of what had happened hit Moss in waves. He would not accept that Imogene had been killed. When Master Crow finally fell behind, Moss shouted at him to hurry, accusing him of not trying hard enough. Half an hour after Jansson's attack, Moss jumped from a rocky outcropping nearly twice his height, onto a loose pile of shale. Bloodied and frenzied, he rushed up to his waist in water that took his breath. He stumbled on rocks yelling Imogene's name. There was no answer except the ceaseless roar of the rapids.

  They walked the river back to the shadow of the Crucible's wreckage. Moss felt the stones shifting beneath him in the current. The water was like a living thing that wrapped itself around his legs in an effort to twist him from his feet. He did not belong in this element, but he could not bear the thought of Imogene being alone in it. He surveyed the steep walls of the gorge. The entire landscape seemed to be arrayed against him. He stopped in the cold shadow of the aircraft, soaked. On the bank, Master Crow sat with his elbows on his knees, his head hung.

  Master Crow eventually built a fire in the shelter of a rusting jet engine. In failing light, he climbed the side of the gorge to where they had left their packs. Moss was awoken when three packs struck the ground several yards away. Master Crow was invisible at the top. Moss could see only see a river of stars defined by the trees. A few minutes later Master Crow yelled down, but it was impossible to hear what he was saying. Moss threw deadwood on the fire and fell back to sleep. His dreams were full of the images Imogene had related in her story of the fox. The floating organ, once part of Irridis, eluded him as he tried to steal it away from Elizabeth. Moss woke shouting in the dark and did not sleep again that night.

  At first light they divided what they needed from Imogene's pack. In one deep pocket Moss found a cube of hashish. He stowed this and some of her clothes into his own pack, wrapping The Songbirds of Nightjar Island and the drawings in one of her shirts. When they had finished their task, Moss hid Imogene's pack under a pile of stones.

  "We'll head downstream," said Moss. "Maybe we'll find her if there are shallows." Master Crow nodded.

  "Are you sure you want to find her?" asked Master Crow.

  "Yes," said Moss. "She might be injured."

  They hiked for hours shouting Imogene's name, through a mist that slowly thickened. They scanned the water, checking protruding logs that might have snagged her clothing, but it was futile. There was no way to see all parts of the river. Some bends concealed deep pools where the water appeared almost black, while other areas were geysers of white foam against the rocks. Imogene's body might have been in any of these.

  Toward the end of the morning they came to a horseshoe-shaped falls that dropped nearly a hundred feet. In the distance, the landscape flattened out. The river was lost in a sea of trees. Moss sat down on a slab of shale.

  "Look down there," said Master Crow, dropping to his haunches beside Moss. Moss followed the line of the other man's finger. At first it looked like another mass of blackened rock at the edge of a pool fed by the falls. The fog thinned to reveal the form of Elizabeth's carriage. Echo stood several feet
away, swaying from side to side.

  The sight of the carriage immediately returned Moss to his dreams of the previous night, and Imogene's account of her meeting with Elizabeth in the woods. One image pushed itself to the forefront, a white arm emerging from the carriage to take the glistening organ. He suddenly knew why they had not been able to find Imogene's body.

  "She's in the carriage," said Moss, with conviction. "The river has swept her right into the witch's arms. We have to get her out."

  HEART'S DESIRE

  "You can't be sure." Master Crow watched the mist swirling around the base of the falls. Echo vanished, reappeared and vanished again. He knew what Echo was and it terrified him. Deep within his stomach, the glass pupa that had lain there since he had stolen it from the witch, so many years ago, shifted as if coaxed. It wanted to join the other pupae that were inside Echo. They were the demon's life force. He knew the demon felt it too, a stirring from Master Crow's proximity. It was swaying in the mist, surely feeling the same tug in its belly.

  "I am," said Moss. "Elizabeth has been stalking her from the start. Waiting for her chance, like a spider. It's punishment for her father's actions."

  Master Crow accepted this. Moss looked terrible. The skin on his hands and face was crisscrossed with welts from tearing down the side of the gorge. Master Crow wondered whether the man would survive the island. Moss would not be the first who had gone mad obsessing over their heart's desire in the wooded depths of Nightjar Island.

  "What do you think he's doing?" asked Master Crow.

  "Waiting. Guarding the carriage. I don't see Elizabeth or her dog."

  They waited for an hour at the top of the falls, keeping a careful watch on the carriage and Echo. Elizabeth did not materialize. The relentless cascade of water was ever changing and yet unchanging.

  "How important is this to you?" asked Master Crow. Moss, who had been silent, looked up sharply.

  "If you want to go, go," said Moss. "I won't hold it against you."