"That's not what I meant."
"I won't leave here without her."
"There's no possible way that she can be alive. It was too high a fall. As I said at the time, too many rocks," said Master Crow.
"Maybe," said Moss. "But I won't leave her body in the hands of these monsters." He paused. "Whatever the cost."
"I know, my friend." Master Crow put his hand on Moss's shoulder. He closed his eyes and absorbed the sound of the falls, the cool damp on his skin and the rich, sweet smell of pine resin. The pupa tugged.
"I think I can draw Echo away, for a few minutes anyway."
Moss patted the hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."
"Wait here. When you see Echo move away, you should take that path to the left. It looks like the quickest route down the falls. On the other hand, I am now going to go down through the trees so that I'm not seen."
"Be careful," said Moss. "Elizabeth could be nearby."
Master Crow winked. "Moss, I've never had anybody to love, you know. Nevertheless, I understand regret. I'm sure that Imogene would not want you to bring yourself further pain. There are many ways to honor the dead. One way might be to simply go on, and leave her be. Don't do anything that you might later regret. Life is long and though it might not seem it now, this is not everything. Not everything is focused on this one point in time. Life is ahead of you. I can see it in your eyes."
"Be safe," said Moss firmly. Master Crow looked at Moss for a few seconds, hoping he would change his mind, hoping that there would be some dimming of his resolve. When it did not happen, he pulled his hood over his head and ducked into the trees.
Echo stood motionless on an expanse of black slate of a type that had once been described to Master Crow as mudstone. The mudstone crumbled beneath the creature's feet, and though not visible from where he stood, Master Crow knew the stone was filled with fragments of trilobites and brachiopods. These were remnants of the ancient world before the age of man and machines. They made for a rich mud.
Echo was wrapped in his heavy coat from which innumerable fine polyps waved, thriving in the moist air. The polyps reminded Master Crow of hair-like worms he had seen writhing in the ruined ponds in Absentia. Echo's skin was a rind. Where it was visible, it was thick and scarred. His feet were three-toed stumps, like those of a rhinoceros, with curiously light-colored nails. Of his face, Master Crow could see only a single eye. It was unexpectedly small given the creature's size, surrounded with thick folds and pleats of coarse skin fringed with long bristle-like lashes. Echo's unwavering gaze seemed to be weighted with a fathomless melancholy. Behind him, the falls thundered. Master Crow resisted the temptation to search for Moss on the upper rocks.
There was no doubt that Echo had seen him. The creature stopped its rocking. Master Crow abandoned the pretense of hiding and left the shelter of the trees. He climbed over the uneven shale. It tilted under his feet and he nearly fell into a pool. The vibration of the falls shook his body. He reached Echo, soaked and short of breath. As he lifted himself onto the cantilevered slab he was conscious of the water churning, endlessly braiding into dark hollows beneath. Echo stood at the opposite end, his back to the falls. The black carriage was several yards away on the firm ground of the true bank. Behind it, the forest was a near-black wall, broken only by the red flashes of a cardinal swooping from tree to tree. He approached slowly, unsure of how he would play his only card. He cleared his throat, about to speak, but Echo interrupted.
"Crow." The creature blinked. Steam rose from its body and sparks were carried on its breath. Master Crow's legs trembled. In the back of his mind, he wondered if these were his last moments alive. This was a place of staggering beauty, a place where you could hear the planet's blood and see its jutting bones.
"Yes," said Master Crow. He had to shout to be heard. Echo's voice had come to him as a voice at his ear.
"Have you come to return what you stole?" asked Echo. Master Crow felt a shift in his stomach. "To finally free me from this."
It was not what he had expected. Uncertain how to respond, he said, "Free you?"
"I was bound to this body without my consent. Only you can undo it."
Master Crow was taken aback. "Me, how can I undo such a thing? I have no skills in the magical arts." The pupa in his stomach fluttered like something on the verge of panic.
"It need only be shattered, but it must be given freely. Would you return the glass to me?" A plume of sparks showered the wet rock and sizzled at Master Crow's feet.
So this was the day he would return the pupa, the day he would cease to be human, or even cease to be at all. He had wondered about it countless times; what kind of day it would be. He had known from the first, of course, that when the time was right he would return what he had stolen, and with each tug in his body the pupa nagged. He could barely remember what it had been to be a crow. He had changed so much. His old life was but a memory of a memory. The thought of giving back, of sacrificing what he had become, terrified him. But though he had grown used to his human form, he had always felt like an impostor. To die pretending that he was other than what he had been born as was to betray himself. Yes. He looked up at the sky and smiled. In his mind he saw the boy, Monster, Starling, Irridis. Back in the City of Steps, Irridis had come to Master Crow. Irridis had made him promise to help Moss, perhaps foreseeing just such a day. How beautiful it was now to be able to atone for a crime and fulfill his promise at a stroke.
"Yes." He jammed two fingers to the back of his throat. "Yes." Tears sprung from his eyes. The pupa pushed at the top of his stomach. He doubled over and howled. Something inside tore and a bubble of blood appeared in the corner of his mouth. It was happening too fast, he had to draw the creature away from the carriage. He turned to run. His boot slipped on algae and he fell heavily on one knee. The pupa was in his esophagus. With one hand he clawed at his neck, with the other he tried to crawl toward the edge of the rock. Echo moved behind him.
"The seventh glass can end this." The roar of Echo's voice had become one with the falls. "Please." And then, like a burning ingot, it was in the back of Master Crow's throat. He rolled on his back, unable to scream or breathe. He drove two fingers into his mouth and felt its smooth surface. Ribbons of blood followed his fingers when he pulled them out. Fists balled at his temple, he rolled over and banged his head on the rock. The glass pupa skittered across the rock toward the water.
"No!" roared Echo. "Catch it! Smash it!"
Master Crow struggled forward, gasping for air. His fingers found the pupa in a small depression. He beat it against the ground until his knuckles were raw and bloodied. Suddenly it burst into a cloud of powdered glass. He heard a wail begin behind him but the fate of Echo was no longer his concern. His hands shook. He felt his teeth shatter as the front of his skull elongated. With every reserve of energy he had left, Master Crow crawled to the edge of the mudstone and threw himself into the churning river.
Moss watched from high above the falls in disbelief as the body of Master Crow fell into the water and was swept from view. A sound came from Echo that raised the hair on Moss's arms. The creature's great head tilted forward. For a moment, Moss expected it to howl again but it did not. Echo's form collapsed inward as though the damp of the air were dissolving it. The coat fell away like a sloughed skin. Sticks, bones, paper, shells and animal remains sagged and fell to the ground in clumps. All of it burned in a column of blue fire. And then, Echo was gone, leaving behind a smoking mound.
THE HAND OF DARKNESS
The carriage was larger than it had looked from a distance. Its windowless bulk sat atop an undercarriage designed to carry a great weight. The heavy wheels had torn deeply into the bed of moss they now rested on. The carriage body was constructed from wood that felt as hard as iron beneath Moss's fingers. The joins were as tight as those of a ship. It seemed more tomb than carriage, and yet, Moss reasoned, there had to be a way in. He circled several times, examining the intricate carving that covered every inch of
the carriage's surface. Scenes of erotic and even demonic revelry encrusted the wood with bewildering complexity. It repulsed him, and for the first time, he wished that Gale had been successful at setting it ablaze.
After checking the falls and the woods to be as sure as possible that there was nobody watching, Moss climbed the carriage. He hoisted himself up on one of the high rear wheels, using the spokes for leverage. From there it was an easy matter to climb onto the top, using the carved grotesques as handholds. Filthy, soaked and feeling half mad, he crouched on top of the carriage and searched the surrounding area for movement. Still, there was no sign of Elizabeth or her damned dog.
At the middle of the roof there was a brass handle with a butterfly key at its center. Halfway into the turn, his hand met some resistance, but when he applied more pressure, there was a distinct click. Moss opened a circular hatch and turned his head away when an odor of decay rose from within. It was dark inside the carriage. Moss relied on the shaft of meager daylight admitted by the hatch to guide him. A ladder of bone and brass led into a strange cavity that was part bedchamber and part grave. The walls were lined with silks and dark velvet. With a start, Moss realized that the space he was in far exceeded the outside dimensions of the carriage. Moss moved stealthily, his pulse throbbing in his ears.
The sword Elizabeth had used to eviscerate Irridis was mounted in an alcove ornately embellished with carved wood. The floor was also wood, so highly polished it reflected the interior like still water. At one end of the space, there was a built-in bed with the curtains drawn. Someone lay behind the cloth, sleeping, judging from the sound of the breathing. He forced himself to ignore the sound for the moment. Imogene lay on the floor in front of it. She had been bound in muslin and red string. There was a strong scent of wild herbs and disturbed fungus in the air. Moss stroked her cheek through the thin material. To his eyes, she did indeed look like a spider's prey. She had a slow pulse. Tears of gratitude sprang to his eyes as he pulled her to him.
"I'm here," he whispered. He lifted her, surprised at how light she felt. Getting her up the ladder was an awkward task, but he managed it. Clasping her to his body, he climbed out of the carriage and slid to the ground. He carried her a few feet away and with great gentleness he placed her onto a bed of pine needles. Working quickly, he removed the cloth. She breathed more evenly.
He returned to the carriage and once again dropped into the small room. As he approached the drawn curtains of the bed a hand slipped out. It was a female hand, long-fingered with bluish nails that had become overgrown. The skin was as white as a beetle grub. Heart pounding, Moss quietly eased the sword from the wall. He lined up the tip with the body behind the curtains. The pale fingers moved, slowly, as though testing the air. Moss's arm shook violently. Gritting his teeth, he prepared to stab through the cloth. This was the real Elizabeth, the monster who cast herself into the body of a drowned girl, the monster who murdered Irridis.
He felt hot breath on his neck. He turned quickly but there was nothing there. The sound of scrabbling came from outside the carriage. The white arm swiped at him blindly, leaving red welts across his hand. Then it had him, firmly. Its strength was astonishing. The fingers closed around his wrist until he felt the bones grinding together like rocks. Something invisible and hot snaked into his open mouth. He gagged, unable to breath. A second hand appeared from behind the curtain. It drove its thumb into the roof of his mouth and pale fingers sought his eyes. Turning his head, Moss tightened his grip on the sword. Knowing he was seconds away from death, he drove it through the curtain into what lay beyond. There was an ear-piercing scream and the hands loosened their grip. On the third thrust, the blade returned covered in blood. The hands fell away and Moss flew backwards, letting the sword clatter on the floor. He gasped for breath. The noise from outside the carriage stopped.
In a few seconds Moss had recovered sufficiently to stand. Picking up the sword, he pulled the curtain back with its tip. A woman lay bloodied among the silks. Her hair was the longest Moss had ever seen, white and twisted in knots. Her eyes were the palest blue. Moss dropped to his knees and took the motionless arms in his hands. He stretched them out in the weak light. Fine white scars covered each of them, like bracelets of thread. It was Memoria. She screamed and tore her hands free. The force of it pulled Moss forward. Memoria scrabbled over him and tumbled to the floor of the carriage. He grabbed for her ankle, but she rolled away. She pounded the floor with a fist, and a hidden trapdoor dropped her out of sight. By the time Moss reached it, the door had sprung back into place. He hit it numerous times, but it would not open.
Stunned by what he had seen, Moss climbed out of the carriage into the cold, rain-washed air. It was only when his feet hit the ground that he realized that he had brought the sword with him. Memoria was nowhere to be seen. Glancing at Imogene to satisfy himself she was safe, he hastily bound the sword in a shirt and lashed it to his pack. Behind him, the carriage loomed. Whatever had been scrabbling from the outside was also gone. Maybe it had been an illusion. The clearing was still. He searched the nearby woods for Memoria without success.
Dazed, he walked back to the spot where Master Crow had confronted Echo. Moss did not understand what had happened here. He knew only that Master Crow had sacrificed himself in order to give Moss a chance to save Imogene. By what path the man had reached this decision it was impossible to say. Looking into the water running beneath the rock, Moss realized that an incomplete understanding would just have to be good enough.
Moss found six glass pupae in the pile of detritus left by the dissolution of Echo. He washed them clean in a puddle and held them up to the light. For a moment, he considered slipping them into his pack, but then changed his mind. He did not want them. Despite Echo's terrifying presence, there had been a profound sadness about the creature. One by one, Moss dropped the stones into the water. They flashed momentarily before being swept away. He dropped to his knees and bowed before the falls. Head pressed to the stone, he slowly allowed himself to confront the implication that it was Memoria in the carriage. She was the witch all along. He rolled over on his back and let the rain mix with his tears.
Fearful of her return, he rose. He walked slowly back to where he had left Imogene. She was gone. He ran around the carriage shouting her name, until he heard her voice calling to him. He followed it to a deep recess in the rock. Imogene squatted on the ground, gently moving strands of black hair from Elizabeth's grey face. When Moss climbed down to them, he noticed that Elizabeth's fingernails were torn and bloody. Splinters from the carriage were embedded in the pads of her fingers.
"I found her face-down," Imogene said. "She's dead."
"Imogene." It was all he could say as he seized her in a tight embrace. He held her for a long time. "It was Memoria in the carriage," he said as he released her. "She was the witch."
Imogene looked at him, confused. "Moss, how?"
"It makes sense. John took her from Little Eye, the same place he found the bookcase. It was there all the time."
"I woke up in the carriage after Jansson carried me off the cliff," said Imogene. "I saw her. It was horrible."
"She got away."
"Oh god."
"We need to look for her, search the woods. I injured her."
Imogene shook her head, resolute. Her face was bruised from the fall but she did not seem seriously injured. "No. We have to bury Elizabeth. We have to bury them both. Elizabeth and Jansson."
"What?"
"Jansson was only acting out of grief."
"He was a murderer," said Moss, incredulous.
She took his hand. "If we don't treat him with dignity, we'll carry hate for him for the rest of our lives. He wasn't a monster, however much we want him to be."
"I won't. He tried to kill you, Imogene," said Moss bitterly.
"Yes. But in his mind, he had a reason, a real reason, Moss. He was a misguided idiot, but not a monster. We need to respect his humanity. Please, for me."
"It will
be difficult to get the body," said Moss. He looked off into the trees on the other side of the waterfall where a piebald crow had alighted on tamarack branch. It bobbed up and down.
"We have rope."
The crow cawed loudly, dipping its head.
"I think that bird is telling us that it's time to go," said Moss. The crow walked back and forth on the ground, impatient.
Retrieving Jansson's body was dangerous but they were careful and methodical. The hard work of climbing into the gorge to retrieve the body and the digging of the grave gave Moss time to probe his anger, and if not forgive, at least begin to form an understanding of events. It was hot work, with only the camp spade and their bare hands to break the earth. As they rolled Jansson into the ground, Moss pulled a gun from the man's boot and put it in his own coat pocket. In the end when both Jansson and his daughter were buried together, Imogene scattered the ground with autumn flowers. Afterward, they washed in the river and ate a wordless meal by a fire.
"The third thing," mused Imogene.
Moss pulled the ocellus from his pocket.
They returned to the carriage. Moss entered a final time, to look for the organ Memoria had taken from Irridis. He found it among the bedsheets, half eaten. When he climbed out, Moss locked the opening in the top and threw the butterfly key into the falls.
LITTLE EYE
"Hopeless." Moss flattened the map against the ground where he had pieced the tattered sections together. At Oak Hall, May had handed him the map in a battered file folder held together with an oxidized rubber band. The map's folds had long since surrendered, leaving Moss with a stack of rectangular pieces. He had tediously ordered them over the past few days, comparing the result with the topography of the landscape. It was late morning. The early chill had retreated before the sun. They had paused beneath an apple tree, which still had a few leaves. The air was sweet with ferment.
Necessary Monsters Page 27
