The Girl Clay

by Amy Cross

***

  “This is my favorite,” he says a few minutes later as he places a plate of bread and spreads on the desk. “I eat it every lunchtime, without fail. I know that makes me sound boring, but at my age I figure none of that matters. I just want to eat what I want to eat.”

  “It looks nice,” I reply cautiously.

  “Go on, take a bite,” he continues. “Now, are you sure there's no-one I should call? Do you know how I can get in touch with your parents?”

  “They're dead.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that. What about your grandparents?”

  I shake my head.

  “So where do you live?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You...” He pauses, clearly concerned. “Where do you sleep?”

  “Nowhere,” I tell him. “Last night I slept outside.”

  “On the street?”

  I nod.

  “You're homeless?” He stares at me for a moment, and it almost looks as if he's close to crying. “Well that's not right, is it? It's not right at all. What's your name again, my dear?”

  “Clay.”

  “That's a very nice name. You know, clay is a very important material. People have been making things out of it for hundreds and hundreds of year. Pretty things, useful things, it's very adaptable. Did you know that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well,” he continues, “I shouldn't keep... Maybe you can wait here for a moment, and I'll go and make some phone calls. We really can't have a nice young girl such as yourself sleeping outside at night, can we? There are people who can help you, organizations dedicated to looking after children such as yourself. Is it okay if I call some of them and see about finding somewhere for you to sleep?”

  I stare at him for a moment, before finally allowing myself a faint smile. I still don't quite know if I can trust this man yet, but so far he seems nice enough and I have nowhere else to go. Mom always told me to be wary of priests, to run away from anyone who wasn't Mr. Kenseth, but for the first time in my life I feel as if maybe I have to ignore what Mom said. She was right about a lot of things, but I think she might have been wrong sometimes as well. Wherever she is now, I hope she won't hate me for thinking these thoughts.

  “I'll be back in a moment,” the man says, heading out of the room. A moment later, I hear him on the phone, and I can tell he's talking about me even though I can't quite make out the words.

  Taking a piece of bread from the plate, I pause for a moment, wondering whether or not it's safe to eat. I'm starving, but after seeing everyone dead after they drank from their lockets, I'm scared that there might be poison everywhere. Figuring that the priest seems friendly enough, I decide to take a nibble from the bread in order to test it, but I quickly find that hunger is overtaking me and soon I've finished everything from the plate. I'm still hungry, but I guess I should wait until the priest comes back and offers me some more.

  As I sit and listen to the sound of the priest still talking on the phone, I finally allow myself to think that I might have managed to get away from Attaroth. Maybe he got tired of following me, or maybe he can't find me anymore. Either way, what matters is that I won't ever see him again.

  I'm free.

  Today

  Jacob Kenseth's eyes start to pop out of his skull as I squeeze the chains tighter and tighter. Eventually his left eyeball leaps from the socket and drops down his cheek, hanging by the optic nerve. I squeeze even tighter, and the chains start to cut through his neck until suddenly I feel something crunching deep inside and I realize that his entire head has come loose. He's still gasping for mercy, but the anger builds and builds in my soul, and I lean down into his face so I can scream out all the pain and all the misery and -

  “What the -” I gasp, suddenly sitting up.

  “Bad dream?”

  For a moment, I have no idea where I am. After a fraction of a second, however, it all starts to make sense. I'm in the passenger seat of an old truck, and we're speeding along a bumpy dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Turning to look over at the driver's side, I see to my horror that Attaroth – still in Nathaniel Kenseth's body – is grinning as he grips the wheel.

  “You were muttering away,” he explains. “Something about Jacob Kenseth. I hope you're not too traumatized by what you did during the night, Clay. That disgusting old pervert had it coming, but I suppose it's still rather distressing to actually kill another human being. I must try it sometime. I've killed as a god, of course, but never with human hands. I imagine it feels very different.”

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking over my shoulder and seeing nothing behind us except the distant horizon.

  “A couple of miles south of Silverglade,” he replies. “We didn't cover quite as much ground as I'd hoped, seeing as how I had to learn how to drive one of these things first, but now we're doing pretty good. I wasn't sure how fast to go, so I just pushed the pedal down as far as possible. Fortunately the roads around here seem to be very long and very straight. Between you and me, I'm a bit worried about what I'll do when we reach a corner, but I have a few ideas. Do you think I'll have to slow down at all?”

  “Stop,” I say firmly.

  “You think so? Okay, I'll keep that in mind.”

  “No, stop!” I shout. “Now!”

  “Why?”

  Looking at the horizon ahead of us, I'm momentarily filled with panic as I try to work out what the hell I can do next. The idea of Attaroth getting to civilization is terrifying: he already looks a little more healthy than before, and while the thought of him 'spreading the word' is pretty crazy, a part of me can't deny that he might just manage to persuade a few people to follow him. After all, the Kenseths were able to amass a small following and they were both insane, so I figure Attaroth might actually have a chance to cause some damage.

  “You can get in on this, you know,” he says suddenly.

  “On what?”

  “I need disciples. You're the first.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I went there for a vacation once,” he replies. “Complicated business, I wouldn't recommend it although...” He smiles. “After what you did to Jacob Kenseth, I imagine you'll be ending up there some day.”

  “He deserved it,” I say firmly. “After everything he did to me, to all those other people -”

  “But you still feel guilty. You still feel that you did something wrong when you killed him.”

  “Are you reading my mind?”

  “I'm reading your eyes,” he replies. “I always wondered how humans were able to guess what other people were thinking without telepathy, and now I know.” He stares at me for a moment. “It's all in your eyes, Clay. The guilt, the sorrow. When I look at you, I feel...” He pauses, as if he's experiencing some new emotion. “I feel attached to you in some way. I feel like I want to help you, to make you happier than you are, and I also feel that you can make me better than I am if I'm without you. I want to touch you, and I want to know your heart is beating close to mine. While I'm down here on this miserable planet in this miserable body, I want to be with you. Is there a word for feeling like that about another person?”

  I stare at him for a moment, feeling a cold chill rise through my body.

  “No,” I reply finally. “There's no word for that.”

  “Well there should be,” he says, turning back to watch the road. “Remind me to invent one later.”

  “I'm not going anywhere with you,” I tell him. “I'm not going to be your disciple, I'm not going to be your -”

  “Mackintosh!” he shouts with excitement. “One hundred and twenty!”

  Looking out the front of the truck, I spot a road-sign as we race past.

  “One hundred and twenty what?” he asks, turning to me. “Either way, we're going to be in a town soon! Isn't that exciting, Clay? We're going to be somewhere, and then we can start spreading the word. Don't worry, you won't feel so bad once there are some other disciples around. I hope you won't get jealous, though. You
'll always be my favorite, I promise.”

  I shake my head.

  “What's wrong?” he asks. “There's no need to be worried. Today we'll convert the good people of Mackintosh to the cause, and then tomorrow we'll find another town, and then another...” He turns back to watch the road, and for a moment he seems genuinely entranced by the thought of so much power. “This is how it starts, Clay. Soon the whole world will worship the name Attaroth, and then I can really get things going. Do you have any idea how I plan to reorganize this planet? By the time I've worn this body out and I'm ready to return to my old form, I'll have wiped out every other god, every other religion, every other belief system. I'll destroy the history books, no-one will even know that there was anything before me. I'm sure a few people will resist, but I'll have them burned for heresy. It's always important to show you mean business, don't you think?”

  “You're insane,” I whisper.

  “I'm a god.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He glances at me. “What do you mean?”

  “You sound more like a demon,” I tell him.

  “God, demon, same thing.” He smiles. “Stop splitting hairs, Clay. The distinction is arbitrary, based on human perspective, the same as with ducks and geese. That's one of things I need to address, actually. We can think about it more when we reach Mackintosh. One day, when my domination of this world is complete, you'll get down on your knees and thank me. In fact, I might even elevate you to a special position by my side. Wouldn't that be nice, Clay? Wouldn't you like to be a queen, ruling with me over this entire world?”

  “I don't think I'd be very good at that.”

  “Well, let's focus on the task at hand,” he continues. “There's time to make you more regal later. When we get to Mackintosh -”

  “We're not going to get to Mackintosh,” I tell him.

  “We're not?” He turns to me. “Why not?”

  “Because...” Staring at him, I realize that for all his grand plans, there's still a part of him that hasn't got to grips with his new mortality yet. “Because right now,” I say finally, “you're only human. You're trapped in a flesh body, and I can't let you get to another town.”

  “What exactly do you think you can do to stop me?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Clay?” he asks, seeming genuinely confused. “You're my disciple, remember? Why are you looking at me like that? Why -”

  Lunging at him, I throw all my weight against his body and then grab the wheel, turning it wildly. The truck veers across the road, its tires screeching as Attaroth tries to push me away. He grabs the wheel and tries to turn it, but I manage to ram my elbow into his chest, hard enough to knock him back again. Turning the wheel, I send the truck careering back across the road until it runs down onto the scrub-land and starts bouncing across the rocks. Stuffing my leg into the foot-well, I force the pedal down as hard as it'll go.

  “Stop!” Attaroth screams. “Clay, you'll -”

  Before he can finish, the truck hits a larger rock and flips. I'm thrown against Attaroth, slamming into the top of his chest as the truck rolls over and over down a sharp incline that runs down from the road. Without a seat-belt, I'm slammed into the windshield, cracking the glass before I'm tossed back into the rear of the cab with enough force to smash my head on the railing, while Attaroth screams as he's tossed into the windshield. The truck continues to roll faster and faster until it hits the edge of an embankment and flips over again, falling a few meters and then finally slamming into the ground. In the process, I'm thrown like a rag-doll into the door, and I feel my skull crack against the metal.

  ***

  When I open my eyes, everything is still and quiet and calm.

  I take a shallow breath, but I immediately feel a sharp pain in my gut. Wincing, I look down and see that there's blood caked all over the front of my shirt. When I reach up to touch the side of my head, I can feel torn flesh that has been ripped away to reveal a section of bone beneath, but suddenly I realize that there's an overpowering stench filling my nostrils. Something foul, something familiar and...

  Gasoline.

  As soon as I try to move, I can tell that my body is wrecked. My arms and both my legs are at least fractured, if not broken. Looking around the truck's cab, I'm shocked by the extent of the damage: the driver's side has completely buckled, and there's a faint hissing sound coming from the engine. All the glass in the windshield has been knocked out, and the vehicle is on its roof with nothing to see outside except dirt and rocks.

  Nearby, I can hear someone crying out in pain.

  Attaroth is no longer in the vehicle, but he's close. Despite the pain in my limbs, I force myself out through the shattered windshield, grunting as I feel broken bones digging into my flesh from inside. The smell of gasoline is everywhere and I'm drenched in the stuff; when I get out of the front of the truck, I find that the vehicle has been almost completely destroyed, with the front having become partially detached from the main bulk. The fuel tank has burst and more gasoline is flowing out.

  Nearby, Attaroth is trying to crawl away through a patch of gasoline, but his right leg has been crushed below the knee, leaving nothing more than a trailing section of skin and bone. He has other injuries, too, including a large cut across his shoulder. After a moment he stops and seems to become aware of me; he turns his head a little, and I see that there's blood smeared across his face.

  “It's over,” I whisper. The words seem to cut like a knife through my neck, and when I turn my head I can feel the bones grinding at the base of my skull. “Attaroth, it's over.”

  He turns to face me. The entire left side of his head has been crushed, and when he lets out a faint gasp of pain, I realize that his jaw must have been damaged in the crash.

  “I guess this is the first time you've ever felt pain, huh?” I continue, splashing through the gasoline as I crawl over to him. “You wanted to know what it's like to be human, so congratulations.”

  “Make it stop,” he gasps, clearly in excruciating pain as he struggles to speak. “Make it... go...”

  “It'll stop soon,” I tell him.

  “I was going to...” He pauses, before letting out an animal-like cry of pain.

  “You're done,” I continue as I reach him, just a few meters from the wrecked truck. “You're not going to do anything. You wanted a human body, and you got one.”

  “You were supposed to help me!” he shouts, turning me and grabbing my shoulders. “You were supposed to be my first disciple!”

  “Bad luck!”

  “You defied me!” he screams, and for a moment his features seem to twist and flex, as if the old face of Attaroth is breaking through from behind Nathaniel Kenseth's features. A faint glow is starting to rise from his shoulders. “Do you think you can defy a god and face no consequences?”

  “You don't look...” I pause as a wave of pain hits me. “You don't look like you're in a position to -”

  “Shut up!” he shouts, lunging at me and pushing me back down before somehow hauling himself up and towering over me. His face twists again, the damaged features reorganizing themselves to once again present an approximation of Attaroth's true face. Leaning back down toward me, he seems filled with rage for a moment, as if his old powers are starting to burst back through the human body he tried to control.

  “You can't do it, can you?” I whisper. “You can't be human.”

  “Why is it so hard to leave this body?” he grunts. “I thought I could... Why am I trapped like this?”

  “You shouldn't play with toys you don't understand.”

  “Do you think I'm going to fade away?” he asks, his voice trembling with anger. He turns his head a little, as if he's trying to get a better view of my face. “Do you think the great Attaroth is going to let a girl like you stand in his way? The people of this world are lost, Clay. They're confused and scared, they're looking for leadership. The old religions are failing and something new is needed. Five thousa
nd years ago, humanity made the mistake of rejecting my benevolent rule, but I intend to give your paltry species another chance. They will embrace the name of Attaroth again!”

  “Or what? You'll launch another rant?”

  “Or they will die,” he sneers, leaning closer to me. “No other god can give them what they want!”

  “You've got a high opinion of yourself,” I reply, trying to twist out from his grip. As I do so, I feel something in my pocket, digging into my skin. Pulling one hand free, I reach down. “Do you really think the human race has spent the past five thousand years waiting for another chance to be your subjects? Do you really think they're got nothing better going for them?”

  “You'll see soon enough,” he replies. “I wanted you to join me, Clay, but now I see that you're incapable of truly understanding my greatness.”

  “Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe you've overestimated that greatness?” I ask, slipping my hand into my pocket and finding that I still have the whalebone lighter, the same one I stole from Beatrice's room all those years ago. “If those people who worshiped you five thousand years ago were so great,” I continue, hoping to distract him, “then why did they die out? Why did you let them die out, why didn't you help them? Maybe the great Attaroth isn't so great after all?”

  “You have no idea,” he replies darkly.

  “You don't seem very great to me,” I continue, fumbling to get the lighter's lid open without him noticing. “You've spent the past ten years not really getting anything done, haven't you? I mean, hell, you can't even walk through open doors.”

  “You don't understand the rules that govern the lives of gods.”

  “I've seen enough,” I reply, “to know that you're finished.”

  “I look forward to proving you wrong.”

  “I don't think you'll get that chance.”

  Finally I get the lighter open, but the lid clicks and I can see from the look in Attaroth's eyes that he suddenly realizes I'm planning something.

  “You would burn us both?” he asks after a moment.