Children of the Earth

by Anna Schumacher

  Even Owen was with them. Poor, confused, broken Owen, whom she’d found half-dead from smoke inhalation after holding the forest fires at bay for what must have been close to nine hours, until either the smoke jumpers arrived or he collapsed from exhaustion. He hadn’t spoken since she’d found him. All she knew was that he’d risked his life for the town of Carbon County and they’d left him for dead. That was simply the kind of people they were, hypocrite churchgoers now gasping and shielding their eyes from the glowing intensity of her stare.

  If Luna hadn’t spent the last two days nursing Owen back to health up at the Vein, he wouldn’t have made it. Even now, she felt him at her back as the weakest link among his brothers and sisters. His head hung low, and the fire had turned his breath to labored wheezing. His weakness made it easier for Luna to use her gift of persuasion on him, to coax him back to her side, but it also worried her. She’d been counting on his powers, and his commitment, to draw the God of the Earth to the surface. With Owen half-broken, they would all have to work even harder to do what needed to be done.

  Luna started down the church’s aisle, her steps silent on the thick red carpet, her eyes glowing like fireflies.

  “Is she a witch?” someone whispered, pointing a trembling finger.

  “She’s the devil!” another shrieked. “Get her out of here! She’ll destroy us all!”

  There was a rustling around the church’s perimeter, and only then did she notice the militia lining the walls. They looked like children playing dress-up in their starched fatigues and gleaming black boots, cradling semi-automatic weapons instead of teddy bears, their faces twisted into tough-guy impersonations they must have learned from video games.

  Luna bit back a laugh: Of course they were carrying guns in church, these false-faced people who claimed to want peace but secretly worshipped war. She was surprised they hadn’t taken down the cross and hung a rifle in its place.

  The youth army raised their guns, aiming them at Luna. The barrels winked at her like dozens of cold, steel eyes.

  “Stop!” Through the sea of black-clad mourners, Daphne Peyton rose from her pew. “Everyone, stop. Luna, can’t you see they have guns? We all know what you did to Janie. You have to leave before someone gets hurt.”

  Smiling, Luna shook her head and took another step forward. Guns were pitiful compared to her strength. She was blood, and granite, and fire, and she had the God of the Earth on her side.

  “Luna, please.” Behind her, Owen’s voice was barely a wheeze. She turned to see him struggling forward, pain flickering across his face with every step. “Don’t do this. Haven’t enough lives already been lost?”

  A bubble of anger rose in her throat. They were Owen’s first words since she’d rescued him, and they were words of defiance. How dare he try to ruin this, after all she’d done for him?

  “Silas.” She snapped her fingers.

  Her largest Earth Brother grabbed Owen by the back of his shirt. In one easy movement he had Owen’s arms pinned behind his back and a hand clamped over his mouth. Owen squirmed in his grasp, trying to land a kick, but in his weakened state he was no match for Silas’s strength. Luna knew it would be mere minutes until he was too tired to fight anymore.

  She didn’t have time for Owen anyway. She had a ritual to perform.

  “One more step and they’ll shoot!” It was the pastor this time, his voice shaking as it rang through the speakers. Luna heard the hard bite of safeties clicking off, the jangle of ammo belts maneuvering into place.

  But guns were no match for the Children of the Earth. They were every element, an alchemical force strong enough to save the world.

  “Abilene.” Luna stared down the field of raised gun-barrels as her Earth Sister stepped forward to stand at her side. Abilene’s mouth stretched wide, and a clear, bluesy note rang out across the church. It soared to the very top of the arched ceiling, bathing the chapel in song.

  The youth army froze as the music gripped them, slithering into their ears and wrapping around their minds. Within moments, there was nothing in the world for them except Abilene’s song.

  One by one, they opened their mouths and joined in. Their voices were rusty and off-key, halting and stilted, but still they sang, zombies under the power of her voice.

  “Aura.” Luna’s prettiest Earth Sister, no more than a wisp with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, materialized on her other side. Luna felt heat gather in Aura’s eyes as she concentrated on the stained glass windows illuminating the church, drawing the essence of their color out of the glass and into the room. Strands of pigment danced through the air and expanded into clouds of violet, cerulean, and scarlet. They descended on the youth army, blanketing them in multihued fog, and Luna smiled as she heard panic creep into their voices, turning the simple melody of Abilene’s song into a twisted calliope of fear.

  In Aura’s blinding fog, in the confusion of Abilene’s music, Luna knew she was gaining the upper hand. All she needed was a finishing touch.

  “Heather.” Solid and loyal, her Earth Sister was there. Heather threw back her head and released a deep, animal roar. It vibrated through Luna’s body and shook the church on its foundation.

  The stones lining the church gardens were the first to respond. They clanked and groaned, rocking in their beds, dislodging themselves one after another and rolling toward the church. Slowly at first, they gained momentum until the first rock through the church doors barreled down the aisle with the force of a bowling ball angling for a strike. It hit one of the youth soldiers in the ankle and knocked her to her knees, her cry wrenching the song she’d been singing from its tracks. More rocks followed, pelting the stunned youth army in the shins and sweeping their feet out from under them, sending them tumbling, terrified, to the ground.

  But Heather wasn’t done. Another roar ripped from deep within her and tore through the valley until every rock, pebble, and boulder shivered in its moorings and knocked itself loose, tumbling toward the Carbon County First Church of God with the clumsy velocity of heat-seeking missiles.

  The rocks crowded through the doors and sailed through the stained glass windows, raining jagged bits of Bible scenes down on the terrified parishioners. They ducked for cover, the notes of their song turning to high-pitched screams, and as they dove through the thick-colored fog to take shelter beneath the pews, their limbs collided with boulders, birthing bruises on their flesh. A grapefruit-sized stone arced through a broken window and knocked Daphne on the shoulder, sending her sprawling.

  Luna wished she could bask in the chaos forever. She loved seeing the powers of her brothers and sisters at work, couldn’t get enough of the way her ragtag band of hippies could bring a gun-toting army to its knees. But there wasn’t time. Already, the bloody glow of sunset swept through the church. The God of the Earth demanded a sacrifice before the full moon rose.

  “Ciaran.” Now it was his power that she needed the most, and even through his grief and anger at losing Janie she could tell he was still loyal, a steadying force at Luna’s side. “It’s time. Find our sacrifice.”

  • • •

  The whimper was already in Ciaran’s head, begging to be plucked from this world and sent soaring to the next, to be set free.

  He heard it through the singing and the stumbling, could sense it through the fog and feel it through the low rumble of rocks rolling through the church. He let the song of sadness fill him until it drowned out all the other voices, and then he began to follow it. He traced it down the aisle, skirting the piles of rocks and falling bodies, until he reached the second row.

  His eyes landed on a wizened china doll of a woman in an outdated pillbox hat. Mauve lipstick dotted the front of her teeth as she attempted to give him a trembling smile.

  The woman was ancient, her back hunched into the telltale S-curve of scoliosis, her fingers purple and twisted with arthritis. Looking
into her eyes he could feel the pokers of pain that shot through her limbs with every step she took, the dull throb of disappointment when she opened her eyes each morning and realized she was still alive. Unlike Janie (his poor, lost, beautiful Janie), she was truly ready to die.

  “Her.” He nodded to Luna.

  The old woman had been singing along with the rest, her voice a creaky, quivering alto, but she stopped at his words and looked up at him, her eyes pink from allergies and tears. Ciaran could sense that deep down she understood what she’d been chosen for, and she was ready. Her husband was twelve years in the grave, and their one son out in Schenectady hadn’t brought his family to visit for Christmas that year. She’d doted on little Charlie, the sheriff’s young boy next door, but he had been taken from her, too.

  Her only solace was the widow doddering next to her, clutching her sleeve in a haze of anxiety and cloying floral perfume.

  “What does he want, Eunice?” Her voice shivered as she spoke. “Why is he looking at you like that?”

  Luna stepped forward. Her eyes switched to high beam, their neon intensity making the old lady squint. She fixed Eunice with her most rare and special smile, and Ciaran watched her all-too-familiar blue halo radiate out from her, wrapping the old lady in its power.

  “Come,” Luna murmured, holding out her hand.

  Ciaran couldn’t tell if Eunice was trembling from fear or joy as she reached out and took it, but when Luna’s fingers closed around hers, he felt the pain disappear from her joints and saw her smile open in amazement.

  No longer stooped or shaking, Eunice followed Luna back down the aisle, around the downed youth army and the rock piles, and out of the church. Abilene stopped her song mid-note, Aura blinked away the colored fog, and Heather closed her mouth, causing every rock in Carbon County to stop rolling in its tracks as one by one the Children of the Earth followed them, Owen still struggling in Silas’s grasp.

  • • •

  Daphne crawled through the rocky rubble and pushed herself to standing. A bruise throbbed on her shoulder, and as she blinked away the sting of the rapidly dissipating purple cloud she scanned the church for her aunt and uncle. Panic tinged her voice as she called their names.

  Her aunt was curled into a ball in the pew. Her red-rimmed eyes darted about in fear, but Daphne breathed a sigh of relief as she realized that aside from being shaken up, she was unscathed.

  “I’m okay.” Uncle Floyd limped toward her from the pulpit. “Just got a rock in the leg. What on earth was that?”

  “I told you they had powers.” Daphne’s voice was grim. “We have to stop them. Let’s go.”

  She started toward the door, dodging rock piles and brushing past the Children of God as they struggled to their feet, rubbing their eyes and grimacing as they ran hands over purple-spotted limbs. Most looked like they were still in shock. Pastor Ted’s jaw hung open and for once he seemed speechless, a leader who didn’t know the next step. He didn’t understand what was happening, Daphne realized. None of them did. It was up to her to lead.

  “Come on!” she commanded, her voice echoing through the church. Heads turned toward her as the disoriented congregation found their bearings, and she jumped onto the nearest pew to guide them. “We have to stop them before they make their next sacrifice!”

  “Sacrifice?” She watched the people’s gazes harden as her words penetrated.

  “Yes! Like what happened to the sheriff . . . and Janie.” There wasn’t time left to explain. “Just follow me. We have to go now.”

  Daphne leapt from the pew and pounded down the aisle, vaulting over the rocks scattered like an obstacle course in her path. As she burst through the doors she felt the congregation begin to pour out behind her, the youth army’s boots pounding the ground and their cries cascading like war whoops down the hill.

  She kicked off her pinching patent leather shoes, barely feeling the cold grass on the new church’s sloping lawn as she ran full tilt to the bottom, where the Children of the Earth had drawn a circle on the ground.

  “Stop!” she screamed.

  Rusty razor blades of color slashed the sky, and she felt the earth heave beneath her. The Children of the Earth joined hands, the illuminated crossbeams of their eyes drenching the circle in light as they began to move in a slow, counterclockwise march, their footfalls heavy and deliberate.

  God of Earth, come what may,

  Rise and walk the earth today.

  The chant thundered through the valley, echoing against the blackened mountaintops, and as the words gained strength the Children of the Earth became a whirling blur of white robes, ectoplasmic eyes, and flowing hair. She glimpsed Owen among them, his eyes vacant and his body rag-doll limp as they pulled him along with them, his feet dragging on the ground. Through the spaces between them, in strobe-lit gasps, Daphne saw Luna place her hand on Eunice’s forehead.

  “Stop!” she cried again. Behind her, at the top of the hill, she heard Pastor Ted shout instructions to his congregation, pleading with them to get out of range so the militia could shoot.

  Daphne lunged at the gyrating mass of bodies, trying to break through the circle in what felt like a twisted version of red rover. “They’re going to shoot you if you don’t stop!”

  Their chant drowned out her cries.

  God of Earth, come what might,

  Overtake the world tonight.

  Eunice looked up at Luna, her face like a dying star hurtling through the galaxy, full of fire and hope and the last bright vestiges of life. Then she went dark, and through gaps in the spinning bodies Daphne watched the old lady crumple to the ground.

  Pandemonium broke out on top of the hill, the Children of God screaming at each other to get out of the way so they could shoot, as Luna knelt beside Eunice and drew the dagger from her thigh holster, pricking the old woman’s finger and using the blood to trace a teardrop on her forehead. Seeing this, the Children of the Earth broke apart and fell to their knees, drumming their hands on the earth in a rhythm like fire crackling and buffalo stampeding.

  “You killed her!” Daphne shrieked, just as the first shot rang out and ricocheted wildly through the valley, missing the Children of the Earth by several yards.

  The earth shook again, pitching her forward. There was a deafening crack like thunder beneath her feet, and from up on the hill she heard the terrified screams of the congregation fill the air.

  “The ground is opening!” someone hollered. She turned to look, and sure enough a crack had formed in the earth. Within moments it widened from a hairline fracture to a gaping wound. She stumbled backward, away from it, the ground still pitching and rolling under her until she lost her balance and fell onto one of the bodies beating the earth, into the achingly familiar scent of soap and motor oil.

  • • •

  Owen grunted under the sudden weight. Silas had kept a firm grip on him as the ritual began, yanking him around the circle as his feet scrambled for purchase on the ground, but then Luna’s blue light burned out every other thought in his head, and he found himself caught up in the power of the chant, pounding his fists on the earth until it shook on its axis and he forgot his reluctance, forgot the pain in his lungs, forgot everything but his destiny. In the heat of the ritual he could feel the God of the Earth rising, a presence vast and heavy that flowed through Owen’s veins like smoke. Now he was eager to see his one true father—not whatever dirty hippie had impregnated his mother, but his real father, the father of them all: the God of the Earth.

  The body rolled off of his and lay panting in the dirt, a tangle of dark hair and slim, muscular legs.

  “Daphne.” Her name broke through the chant and escaped his lips like a puff of steam. It jogged something in the back of his mind and cut the roiling rage and ecstasy the ritual had awakened. He reached down and grasped her, pulling her to her feet. Her arms were warm, making him ache for s
omething he had almost forgotten.

  “He has her!” The cry came like the scream of a hawk down the hill. Owen looked up to see Pastor Ted charging them, his suit jacket flapping in the wind, stumbling over the rippling earth. He stopped in front of the widening fissure, fear creasing his face as he stood shaking his fists.

  A phalanx of youth group militia flanked him, guns raised.

  “He’s going to do to her what they did to Eunice!” Pastor Ted’s scream was high-pitched and agonized as he shouted instructions to his army. “Take him down! Save our prophet!”

  “No!” Daphne leapt to her feet, waving her arms. “He’s just—”

  Before she could finish, Owen heard the click of a trigger and felt the heat of a metal bullet.

  He saw it coming in slow motion, a silver sphere revolving in lazy circles against the blood-red sky. He saw the way it changed the air around it, currents tumbling away in elegant curls. He saw the shooter’s eyes widen in horror as she realized where the bullet was headed, and in slow motion he saw Pastor Ted’s mouth flap open and Daphne drop to the ground, arms over her head.

  Owen felt his mind clear and his eyes blaze green as he dove in front of Daphne, into the gunshot’s path. He stared down the bullet, and in his mind he stretched the fabric of space and time, bending the air between them and forcing the bullet’s trajectory just a little to the left.

  Just a little more.

  He trembled with the effort, his eyes glowing painfully hot, sweat pouring down his neck and soaking the collar of his shirt.

  The bullet hovered, currents of atmosphere twisting around it like a waterfall. Owen squeezed a hot rush of breath through his lungs and felt every ounce of concentration explode out of him, smacking the bullet so that it grazed his shoulder, leaving a dazzling sear of pain on his clavicle before speeding away into the church parking lot.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Daphne climb slowly to her feet. He had saved her life, and he’d saved himself, too. But he could sense that the worst was still to come.