The Reign of the Departed

by Greg Keyes

  “Cause the rest of the week they’re man-eating monsters,” Nellie said.

  “Tie-snakes and water panthers, snatchwitches and life-eaters,” Sarah said.

  “Now you’re having fun with me,” David said.

  “Mister, you walk out in them woods, you’ll see what kind of fun we’re having with you.”

  The oldest-looking girl stood up, and David saw she was pregnant.

  “Come on, girls, it’s past bedtime. Let’s let Mr. David here have some peace from your jabberholes.”

  David woke with something warm snuggled against him, and found it to be Nellie. At first he wasn’t sure what to do. Everyone slept all together in one room, in pallets on the floor, but he’d found a whole other room with beds which were apparently reserved for the missing older kids or parents. He’d taken one of those, a down mattress that had seen better days but was a lot softer than the floor. At some point, Nellie had apparently followed him in.

  He lay still for a moment, feeling her shallow breathing, and then tried to disengage himself.

  She wasn’t asleep, though, and gripped him tighter.

  “I ain’t want no husband,” she whispered sleepily. “I just want to pretend you’re my pa. And I don’t want Jimmy to come along messing with me like he does. Please, mister.”

  He hesitated, then with a sigh he lay back down. She tucked her head on his chest, and in a few minutes her breathing evened out. He wondered what kind of ‘messing’ Jimmy did. What kind of Lord of the Flies situation had he stumbled into? These kids needed help. This needed reported.

  After he found Aster.

  Suddenly the warmth of Nellie’s body against his felt like pain, like loss. It should be Aster next to him. He should be with her like this. Protecting her, hearing her regular breathing. That it wasn’t she gnawed at him. Only when he began to pretend it was her was he able to sleep.

  A stir of voices and footfalls woke him next. He pushed Nellie over—a little rougher than he meant to, because he knew what it might look like—and jumped up to see what it was, only to find found himself face-to-face with a hard-looking boy in his late teens.

  “Well, now,” the boy drawled. “Who are you, come here to help himself to our women?”

  “No, it’s not like that,” David said. “I was just—she . . .” He stumbled back, noticing as he did that the boy’s leg had a makeshift bandage on it.

  “And in my bed,” the young man went on. “A fine thing. I oughta blow your brains out.”

  “Oh, hush Jobe,” Nellie said. “He didn’t touch me.”

  “Well, who would, Nellie?” Jobe snapped. “Get out of here. You know better than to come in here.”

  He turned to David. “Now, you.”

  “He’s with me.” The Sheriff’s voice rumbled. Where he had been this whole time, David didn’t know; he hadn’t been sleeping in any of the rooms set aside for that. But David was suddenly happy to have him back.

  “And who the hell are you?” Jobe demanded.

  “I’m the Sheriff,” he replied. “The young woman, Aster, and her companions. Where are they?”

  “What have they done?”

  “That’s not your concern,” the Sheriff said. “Where are they?” Some of the hardness went out of Jobe’s eyes, replaced by uncertainty.

  “I reckon they’re in town,” he said. “Or will be soon.”

  “Well, then,” the Sheriff said. “I’ll need you to take me there and help me apprehend them.”

  “Sheriff, you say?” Jobe said. “I ain’t never seen you.”

  “Sheriff of the Marches,” he said.

  Another of the boys gave a low whistle. “I’ve heard of him. He’s got the authority, he does. They’ll have to give them over, in town.”

  “That suits me just fine,” Jobe said. “But you have to guarantee my safety.”

  “You’ve committed no crime I care about,” the Sheriff said. “You’re my deputy now, and as such inviolate.”

  “Well, then,” Jobe said. “Let’s saddle back up, boys.”

  PART THREE

  OUT FROM THE MARCH

  ONE

  THE WATER GETS DEEP

  Aster was watching Shecky bring the horses when she saw a young boy run up to him; they were far enough away she couldn’t hear what the boy said, but it seemed to light a fire under Shecky, who all but dragged the mounts along.

  “Best hurry,” he said, when he got near. “They say the March Sheriff is coming for you. If he finds you here we’ll have no choice but to hand you over.”

  He clapped Billy on the shoulder. “Jobe and his bunch are riding with him.”

  “We’d best go, then,” Billy said.

  Dusk had already loaded some provisions onto Drake. Billy hurriedly strapped more on his, then put a rifle into a sheath fastened to his saddle.

  Veronica hopped onto her mount, a small red mare—without effort. She looked comfortable. Even Errol sat the big, barrel-chested animal he’d been brought with what appeared to be confidence.

  She stood, gazing at the horse proffered her, a spotted grey mare she’d been informed was named Lily.

  Billy noticed.

  “Have you ever ridden?” he asked.

  She remembered hoof beats, and a storm at night, her arms gripped tight around her father’s waist.

  “I’ve been on a horse,” Aster replied. “But I don’t know how to ride.”

  He came over and took her hand. It was unexpected, and confusing, but then he placed it on the muzzle of the horse. She felt the velvety soft hair, the warm suspiration from Lily’s nostrils.

  “Lily will be easy on you,” he said. “She’ll follow, so you won’t have to do much.”

  He led her around to the side.

  “Always mount from the left,” he said. “Put your foot here, in the stirrup, now throw your other leg over.”

  In the saddle, she took a deep breath.

  I can do this, she thought. She had always wanted to ride. Here was her chance.

  “Remember,” Billy said. “Holding the saddle horn or the reins won’t keep you on. You have to hold on with your legs and keep your weight between them.”

  “Got it,” she said, not certain that she really had, but feeling the Sheriff drawing nearer in her mind.

  “Let’s go,” Errol said.

  They started at a walk, which was easy enough, but when they got beyond the town and onto the road, Billy brought his horse to a slow trot. As promised, Lily followed. It was a bit bouncy, but not so bad.

  “Okay, Miss,” Billy said, coming alongside her. “We’re going to a fast trot, and that can be hard on your backside. So you want use your legs in the stirrups to sort of take up the bounce. Watch me.”

  He sped up, and she saw what he meant; his horse was rising and falling, and his legs were pumping against the motion.

  “We call it posting,” Dusk said. “It’s not hard, and it will save you a lot of pain.”

  As the other horses pulled ahead, Lily took their example and broke to a fast trot. At first it hurt, but then Aster found the rhythm—tah-tun, tah-tun, tah-tun—and again she remembered clinging to her father’s back, that same double beat lifting her up and down.

  “A horse can’t run for long, Streya,” he’d said. “But a good one can trot forever. Remember that.”

  I can do this, she knew, and grinned.

  Then she remembered the Sheriff and looked back, but the road was clear except for their dust.

  They soon found themselves rising and falling through low hills, and the road took itself along a wooded ridge top. There they stopped at an overlook from which they could see the open fields, and more distant yet, the smoke rising from the chimneys in town.

  “There they are,” Billy said.

  At first all she saw was a dust cloud, but then she made them out; a bunch of riders. Two were further out in front than the others, and flanked by a pair of dogs.

  They weren’t on the main road, but were cutting across
the fields.

  “They’re going the wrong way,” Errol said.

  “No,” Billy replied. “They aim to cut us off before we get to the river. They know where we’re headed.”

  “How?” she wondered. “We’ve passed at least three turn-offs.”

  “They know where we’re going,” Billy repeated.

  “Well,” Aster said, “let’s go someplace else, then.”

  He seemed to think about that for a long time.

  “If we’re going to Aunt Jezebel’s, we have to cross the river,” he said. “And there’s no other place shallow enough to ford in a hundred miles.”

  “I don’t get it,” Errol said. “If the way they’re going is quicker, why didn’t we go that way?”

  Billy shrugged. “I thought they would follow us, and I could lose them in the hills.”

  “This river,” Dusk said. “How wide is it?”

  “The Sinti? A good stone’s throw.”

  “Is there any place it is particularly narrow?”

  “Up north a few miles, I reckon, it pinches up a little.”

  “I have some arts,” Dusk said. “Let’s try it there.”

  Oddly, instead of Billy, Aster realized everyone was looking at her.

  “We’ve no chance at the crossing?” she said.

  “I would say no, Miss,” Billy replied.

  She looked at Dusk. “You can do this?”

  “If the river is narrow enough, I daresay yes.”

  “Then north we go,” Aster decided.

  They soon took a branching trail, and then Aster learned what it was like to run, for Billy took them to a canter. Surprisingly, it was vastly smoother than a trot, and after the first slight panic at the rush of the forest on either side it quickly became intoxicating. Lily responded to her hands at the reins, but she knew that control was only partial, that the horse might suddenly choose to do almost anything, and a deep thrill somehow wound all through that.

  They didn’t run for long, but went down to a walk for a bit, then back to a trot, to let the horses get back their wind. Then they were running again.

  Night fell, but Billy pushed them on under the light of the moon, which was waning but still nearly full. Nightbirds called, and the shapes of the trees grew grotesque. Their pace slowed to a walk.

  “When do the adults change back?” she asked Billy.

  “They clear out of town around nine,” he answered. “They change at midnight.”

  “So we won’t run into any monsters tonight.”

  “No, we might,” Billy replied. “There are other towns, and lots of people just scattered about on homesteads.”

  “Wait—you mean it’s not just your town? The curse affects everyone in the Kingdom?”

  “Yes,” Billy said. “The curse is everywhere.”

  She worried at his words for the next half an hour, until they slowed to a walk. The trail was narrow, so the group strung out some, and Aster suddenly realized Errol was riding alongside her. The carved features of his face didn’t register anything, but she sensed he wanted to talk.

  “What is it, Errol?” she asked.

  “Eight years,” he said. His tone was low; even she could barely hear it. The next closest rider was Veronica, twenty feet ahead.

  “What about it?” she asked.

  “Their curse started eight years ago,” he said. “That’s about the time you showed up at Sowashee Elementary.”

  “I’m aware of that, Errol,” she replied.

  “Hey, look,” he started, and she felt the sudden bitter sense she was making a mistake, that she shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. The problem was that she was angry at Errol, but she wasn’t sure why.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way back at Hattie’s. And it was smart of you to figure of the eight-year thing.”

  “I’m not dumb,” he said.

  “No,” she replied, “But you’ve been acting dumb for so long now, I forget, sometimes, how smart you can be.” “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Errol said.

  She shrugged. “Anyway, yes, father and I left here eight years ago. And eight years ago my father’s memory began to go bad.”

  “Do you think there is a connection?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I don’t believe in coincidence. Not at that scale.”

  “I don’t either,” he said. “Did you notice how Hattie talked to Dusk? Like she might know something about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe you should ask her about it.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “We still don’t know a lot about her.”

  “I know she’s saved our asses more than once. I think we can trust her.”

  “Look,” she said, “I know that Dusk is . . . Impressive. She’s strong, and she’s brave, and she’s hot. But try not to . . .” She sighed.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “When it comes to women you . . . make mistakes.”

  “Are you still going on about when I ran off after Veronica?” he said. “Because you know I couldn’t help that.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m talking about Lisa.”

  He was silent for a moment.

  “That’s mean,” he said.

  “You were her puppy dog, Errol. She played with you long enough to make Brandon notice her, and then she dumped you.”

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  “And this is what I’m talking about,” Aster said. “When girls are involved, you can’t separate fact from fiction. So watch what you say around Dusk. If I decide to talk to her about this, I will.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Errol said, sarcastically.

  “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Errol,” she said.

  “Well, God help me when you try to, then,” he muttered, and rode up ahead, toward Veronica.

  Veronica smelled the river long before they reached it; the clean rush of the channel, the corruption in the eddies and pools along its banks, the musk of the water snakes hunting frogs on sandbars. She felt a longing for the depths, for at least one swim down to the slippery sediment, to run her fingers through the empty shells of crawfish and the broken skeletons of catfish and water birds, to fill her dead lungs with living water. She remembered the hand from the well. Part of her wanted what Aster promised. Each day her remembrance of her few living years sharpened, and a sense of possibility was developing in her. Every day she felt changed, not always for the best. She had come so close to leaving when Errol and Dusk went down to their futile confrontation with the Snatchwitch. She still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t.

  But at least she was on a horse again. She was certain she’d had a horse, way back then. And she liked to run.

  They wound down to the sandy littoral; the moon was behind the trees, so Dusk asked her to lead, because Veronica had the best eyesight at night.

  And she felt Him, in the deeps. Big. He hadn’t noticed them yet, and she hoped he wouldn’t.

  “We—” she began. She had meant to say, “We should go quietly.”

  But she was cut off by Dusk, who thrust the point of her awful sword into the water. Veronica gasped, almost as if the blade had pricked her own skin.

  “Gelde,” Dusk said.

  Cold struck Veronica, and she was once again reminded of thrusting her head into the open coolers at Tucker’s store. She watched as frost spread across the water and felt ice in her own veins.

  And she felt Him and his abrupt fury.

  And then, before she could say anything, a gunshot exploded downstream.

  “They’re here,” Billy said, as another detonation rang through the night air.

  Veronica saw them, then, by the flash from the gun. They were south, on a ridge overlooking the stream.

  “Quickly,” Dusk said. She led Drake out onto the ice. The others followed.

  “No, wait,” Veronica said.

  But then the ice shattered, as He smashed up through it
.

  His massive, spade-shape head reared toward the stars, drawing a serpentine body behind. But the form he wore was no snake. His skin was slick and without scales, and he had two forelegs so tiny they made those of a Tyrannosaurus rex seem big by comparison.

  For a moment, Veronica stood unmoving, staring as Errol and the rest struggled in the water. She felt something like an angry insect hiss past her head, and then the bark of another gunshot.

  The monster darted its open mouth toward one of the horses. The poor beast shrieked, breaking Veronica’s stupor. She stepped into the water, feeling the sweet, metallic taste of the horse’s blood on her tongue and felt rather than knew what to do.

  When the ice broke, Errol had a single glimpse of their attacker, but it was as clear as a flash. He had seen one before, although it had been much smaller. His grandfather had called it a conger eel, but he had later learned it was really an amphiuma, a kind of amphibian. He remembered that they had teeth like razors.

  As he sank, he swam furiously toward the thing. If he could get hold of it, he might be able to pull it under and give the others a chance. But he couldn’t see anything in the pitchy darkness, and once again he felt the weight of failure settle on him.

  Aster had a Recondite Utterance forming on her lips, but the shock of the cold choked her, and then her mouth filled with water. She realized with horror that her hand was tangled painfully in Lily’s reins, and the terrified horse was dragging her along. They were in the middle of the river, and the current was strong. She and the horse were spinning in a kind of ghastly waltz. A horse screamed, and it was one of the worst things that Aster had ever heard.

  Then she went under. She closed her eyes, furiously trying to focus on something. She could feel the untamed magic all around her, but couldn’t bend it to her will. The water was crazy with noises, but she couldn’t tell what they were.

  Then a sort of light flickered in her mind, the same light that illuminates dreams. She was still in the water, but she was comfortable, at ease even. Powerful. She felt herself growing, reaching up and downstream. She saw herself in the water, and Errol, sinking toward the bottom, Dusk thrashing toward the monster, Billy trying to aim his pistol and swim at the same time.