by David Towsey
‘How do I know this to be true? Am I privy to some long-lost arcana? Do I have magical or mechanik power? Or have I simply Walked for three hundred years, with open eyes and ready ears?’
– a transcribed extract from candidate Cirr’s opening speech, in the Black Mountain Common Consensus of Winters 2886
Luke heard many gunshots. The sound danced between the trees. Somehow he had a general impression of where the fighting was, but the echoes seemed to come from everywhere at once. Bellis called them to a stop. The shaggies pawed at the ground and nodded their heads violently. Were the animals picking up on their riders’ nervousness, or was it the other way around? Bellis and Courie readied their rifles. Looking at Nathaniel’s rifle, Luke could still feel the ghost of it against his shoulder from when he shot the red-wink. The sudden heaviness of the metal barrel that only registered after he had fired; a lot of things only registered afterwards. That was how men used guns.
‘Could be the army,’ Bellis said.
Luke righted his glasses. ‘They said these mountains were infested with Walkin’. Would the Walkin’ use guns?’ He had imagined the creatures of the night with talons and claws, rending and tearing at innocent souls.
‘I don’t know,’ Bellis said. He started them moving again, slower now. His rifle balanced at the top of his saddle.
The air between the trees was hot and wet. Trickles of sweat ran down Luke’s ribs. His palms were slick. At first he thought his scabs were bleeding – that he had become used to. Instead, the sweat stung where he had cut himself. It made holding the leather reins uncomfortable. He felt uncomfortable all over. He was surprised to find himself wishing he were back in the Redlands, with enough air and space to breathe. This wet heat smothered him. His cassock smelt damp and salty. He shivered at the thought of a bath.
He missed seeing Sarah. It seemed as though decades had passed since he had watched her through the window. Soft skin in the steam. Her blonde hair let loose. He prayed for forgiveness for his lusty thoughts. But with her husband finally put to rest, and their infernal spawn with him, Sarah would need another man. She couldn’t manage by herself. And Luke would be there. Luke, who had personally seen to the salvation of her husband’s and daughter’s souls. The rewards she would lavish on him … He shifted on his saddle, suddenly aware of his rising manhood. He recited his prayers until he regained his composure.
These trees would provide plenty of pyre wood. He wondered if the dampness in the air might affect how they burnt. It lacked the scented blessing, but perhaps there would be a natural replacement to cover the smell of burning flesh. Blessed pyre wood was too good for the creature that had forsaken his faith and stolen his own daughter. Perhaps it was better they had used it to warm the bodies of righteous men.
More gunshots. Luke had to fight to keep his shaggie under control. He supposed the animals were as unaccustomed to the forest as he was. The way the trees limited his vision more than his affliction did – it would be unnerving to a primitive beast of burden. He patted its neck as he had seen Nathaniel do.
Thomas McDermott came into view. It was as if he had been hiding behind a tree and then suddenly stepped out not more than ten paces in front of them. He was holding his daughter’s hand. There was another with them, wearing a pale robe. The shaggies all stopped – heedless of their riders. The animals’ ears flattened on their heads. The McDermott creature stood similarly frozen. Luke had hoped for this moment for so many days, he didn’t believe it was real. Had he wished McDermott into being?
Bellis raised his rifle. Nathaniel slowly followed his example.
The creature put himself between the guns and the little girl. He threw an accusing look at his robed companion. ‘What have you done? They will kill her!’
‘This is the way it has to be, Thomas. Mary belongs with her own kind.’
‘They will shoot you too.’
‘No, they won’t. We have watched them for some time.’
The two creatures were arguing. It was more than Luke could contain.
‘Minions of Satan! Hell has boiled over onto this earth. Shoot them, Bellis. Shoot them all!’
4 : 8
Luke’s outburst seemed to go unheard. The Walkin’ were focused entirely on the two men holding guns. Neither ’Keeper nor Law-Man fired. Nathaniel glanced over at Bellis, his old friend.
‘There’s no more running,’ Bellis said.
‘Bellis!’ Luke said.
‘We’re not here to kill—’
‘Thomas? Is it you?’
‘Hello, Samuel. I’m sorry you had to be here.’
Samuel shook his head once and then lowered his gaze. He had tears at the edge of his eyes.
The Walkin’ looked at Bellis. ‘Why couldn’t you let us be?’
‘You made this happen when you took Mary,’ Bellis said.
‘Leave her to be killed? Is that what you would have done, Bellis? Nathaniel?’
The Gravekeeper didn’t answer. He wasn’t looking at the creature, but at the woman in the robe.
‘Lydia?’ he said.
‘Nathaniel. You’re looking well,’ the Walkin’ said.
Nathaniel got off his shaggie. He left his rifle on the saddle. So often he had dreamed about her. Thought of her when his mind should have been on Rachel. Remembered her dark ringlets when his hand touched a blonde ponytail. ‘What … Why are you here?’
‘I live here, now.’
‘You could have chosen anywhere in the world. You were so close. All these years,’ he said. Nathaniel embraced Lydia.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry. I let this happen.’
‘Don’t be. I am happy. More than ever,’ she said.
‘“Happy”!’ Luke snapped. ‘The servants of the devil do not know what happiness is.’ Again, they ignored the acolyte.
‘She doesn’t have to die, Nathaniel. You know this,’ Lydia said.
‘The husht’s tongue,’ Luke screamed. ‘It is divine law. The word of the Good Lord. Why are we listening to demons?’
‘A moment alone, Bellis?’ Nathaniel said. The Law-Man nodded.
Nathaniel led Lydia away from the scene. He could hear Luke’s objections behind him.
‘You say you’re happy. I’m still sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I’ve watched you in the forest.’
She was still beautiful. Her long dark hair, just as he remembered it. He wanted to touch her face. To kiss her. But he couldn’t. He took her hand in his. That was enough.
‘I’ve thought about seeing you for so long,’ Lydia said. ‘About what I would say. It’s as hard as I imagined it would be. Can you make me a promise? Promise not to open it until you are back in Barkley?’
‘Open what?’
She pressed a letter into his hands.
*
Nathaniel returned alone. The Gravekeeper seemed on the edge of tears. Had he been turned? Enslaved? Luke struggled with the need to save a soul and his aversion to the Walkin’. The way Nathaniel had casually hugged her. Her hands on his bare arms.
Nathaniel stood by himself, watching the forest. Luke sneered at the man. He had clearly lost his senses.
‘Thomas, you just come with us,’ Bellis said.
‘No. Do it now!’ Luke said.
‘This forest is busy. Come on, get moving.’ The Law-Man motioned with his rifle.
The creature and his spawn started out ahead of them. Bellis kept his rifle aimed, but Nathaniel didn’t pick his up again.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Luke asked him. ‘Are you bewitched? I can perform an exorcism.’
‘That was my first wife.’
Luke was stunned. He had no memory of Nathaniel with a woman other than Rachel. And why was she now a Walkin’? She should have burnt like everyone who died in Barkley. He was the Gravekeeper. It was his job. Nathaniel dropped to the back of their group.
Samuel was still silently crying for his brother. The little girl looked back at them. She hadn’
t said a word. She was pale, her cheeks drained of colour, and her hair lank and lifeless. Had she already turned? There was something wrong in the way she looked at them, as if she were older than she really was. It was the same acceptance of life and events Luke had seen in the elderly; people who had seen enough. He shuddered under her stoic gaze and was glad when she turned away again. The earth would sigh with relief when it was cleansed of two such abominations.
The forest was quiet. The sound of gunfire was far enough behind them now to be drowned out by the soft thumps of shaggie hooves. No one spoke. Luke was ready in case the Walkin’ tried to escape. He sat up in his saddle, his heels almost touching the flanks of his mount. His toes itched with the need to fulfil his divine charge, to save these souls, but he tried to stay calm. He had become over-excited before; it had delayed this moment and given him a bump below his crown. He rode next to Bellis, as close as he dared get to the creatures.
‘That’s far enough,’ Bellis said. They stopped in a small clearing. The trees were thinning here; they were close to the edge of the forest.
Luke began to chant in a high-pitched voice. ‘“With the indignation of His anger. And the flame of a devouring fire. He has made it deep and large. Its pyre is fire with much wood. The breath of the LORD, like a stream—”’
Bellis slapped him. Luke felt his cheek. The skin was hot and tingled. He glared at Bellis, who stared plainly back.
They got off the shaggies. Nathaniel took their reins, still avoiding the sight of the abominations. Nathaniel lacked the strength and courage of true faith. Luke pitied the old man.
‘Bellis. Listen, now. Do what you will with me. But let my daughter go.’ The Walkin’ held out his hands, entreating them. Bile rose in Luke’s throat. He swallowed hard – he would not ruin everything in a moment of physical weakness.
‘On your knees, Thomas,’ Bellis said.
The Walkin’ complied. The little girl threw herself on him.
‘Don’t hurt him!’ she cried. Her face became puffy and tears rained down her cheeks.
‘She’s just a little girl, Bellis. Samuel, she’s your niece, for Christ’s sake! You can’t do this,’ the creature said.
Nathaniel went over to her. ‘It’s okay, Mary. Everything is going to be okay.’ He loosened her grip and picked her up. She fought, but he ignored her small fists.
Bellis took his position behind the creature’s head. He cocked his rifle. Luke held up his hands – crucifix in one, the Good Book in the other.
‘“The breath of the LORD, like a stream of brimstone kindles it,”’ he sang.
‘No!’ Samuel shouted. He strode purposefully towards Bellis. ‘He’s my brother. It should be me that does it.’
‘Keep her safe, Samuel,’ the creature pleaded. ‘You saw her every Sabbath. She ate at the family table.’
Bellis was still for a while. Samuel stood his ground. The Law-Man stepped away from the Walkin’.
‘Take Nathaniel’s rifle. Nice and slowly now, Samuel.’ Bellis moved to a spot where he could cover both the McDermotts. Did he think Samuel might turn on them? He was young, but devout. Luke had talked to him about the Good Book many times on their journey. Luke was sure Samuel could be trusted to do the right thing.
Samuel took the gun from Nathaniel’s saddle. It seemed small in the boy’s large hands. The girl continued to struggle.
‘I love you, Mary,’ the creature said. Luke felt the bile in his stomach. He wanted to spit at this nightmare, this false life, that claimed to know of ‘love’. Samuel stood in the same manner Bellis had.
Luke raised the Good Book once more. ‘“For the life of the flesh is in the blood: it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul.”’
The shot thundered.
4 : 9
Thomas opened his eyes. Mary had turned away, her face buried in ’Keeper Courie’s stomach. He could feel the metal of the rifle’s barrel on the back of his head. It was cold. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t understand why he was still alive, but these few moments could be a gift; he wanted to spend them watching his daughter. He expected a darkness to come. After that, he had no idea.
Luke Morris fell to the ground. The young man’s knees buckled. His descent seemed weightless and accepting – until he hit the ground. Above his right eye was a dark red hole. He was still smiling, his mouth open, ready to continue reading from the Good Book. Gradually, his smile slackened.
‘It’s okay, Samuel,’ Bellis said. The metal remained against the back of Thomas’s head.
‘I don’t—’
‘Let him go.’
His brother stepped back. Thomas sagged; the barrel a great burden he had been holding.
‘Dad!’ Mary ran to him. He hugged her, reeling from the warmth of her body. Her cheeks were wet against the side of his face. Behind him, he heard Samuel drop the rifle. Mary started to laugh. It was a manic, pinched sound. Nathaniel checked Luke over.
‘Bellis. You killed him,’ Nathaniel said.
‘We’re taking Mary back home; without you, Thomas. We never saw a Walkin’ the whole time. We found her with a man. In the struggle, he killed Luke.’
‘What are you talking about? You just shot Luke Morris,’ Nathaniel said.
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘You’re asking us to lie?’
‘I’m telling you. It’s the only way for Mary.’
Nathaniel looked at the girl. Thomas had kept quiet through the whole exchange. This was the best he could hope for: his daughter safe. It was all he had ever wanted.
‘Why, Bellis?’ Thomas said.
The Law-Man spat. ‘I don’t kill children.’
4 : 10
The LORD said, ‘What have you done?
Listen! Your brother’s blood
cries out to me from the ground.’
Genesis
EPILOGUE
Dear Nathaniel,
Some of the words written here may be painful and you may not wish to hear them. But they are long overdue. There is much I owe you.
I know you must work as hard as ever, Nathaniel. It is not an easy job and I know from our life together there is much burden to shoulder. I hear you have married Rachel Ginsly. She was a kind woman when I knew her. I wish you both happiness.
My life now is one of contentment. You may feel guilt over the choice you made, but do not feel it on my behalf. I have found a community that values me. I do not, and never will, blame you for anything.
The time we had together, though it may not have seemed so, was the happiest of my first life. It has given me countless fond memories. I carry those memories with me, wherever I go. Whilst they give me strength, they do not hold me back from enjoying my time now. Please, Nathaniel, find joy in the moments you have.
I loved you in a different life. Let me go. Lydia
He read the letter three times. He glanced around the graveyard. The wind shook the willows, but there was calm amongst the headstones.
He stood up and folded the letter into his pocket. He’d only just arrived at the cemetery, but he went home.
Rachel wasn’t there. He walked over to the cooking pot. He lit some kindling and held the letter to it. A ring of black ate its way towards his hand; an orange tongue licking over the words. He dropped the last of the letter into the pot.
He carried it out into the garden. Careful of the breeze, he tipped the ashes into the empty urn on the porch.
Along with the ash he poured in every touch, every kiss, every heated word and every act of kindness.
The urn had been made for Mary.
He would bury Lydia.
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