Rebel Heart
Page 28
Don’t stop on the Wraithway, no matter what.
No matter what. Well, I only got one horse an he needs a drink. Tracker too, he’s bin runnin all night. We won’t be long. A few seconds, that’s all. I slide down from Hermes.The water’s runnin fast an shallow over rocks.
Hang on, I says. I’ll check it out, make sure it’s—
Hermes pushes past me with a huffle as Tracker rushes into the stream an begins to drink. Nero lands on a rock an dips his beak in.
Guess it’s okay, I says.
We drink long an deep. The water ripples an swirls, black in this light. It’s icy cold an tastes flat, like stone. I look up at the sky as I sluice my face an arms. Dark clouds hide the moon. The last dregs of night tangle with forest shadows so’s you cain’t tell one from th’other. I squint. Looks like somebody’s cut a path into the trees on the north side of the Wraithway.
Nero takes off with a squawk. I go fer a last scoop of water. Ow! I whip my hands out, an suck at my left wrist. The iron taste of blood. I must of nicked it on a stone. I plunge it back in the water, swish it about to wash off the blood.
We better git goin, I says.
In a flash, Tracker’s outta the stream. He stares at it, stiff-legged, growlin.
I frown. What’s the matter with you? I says.
Somethin slips around my skin. Somethin long an sleek. I snatch my hand out an peer into the stream. I cain’t see proper, the light’s so bad, the water’s so dark.
The clouds clear the moon.
The stream’s alive with snakes. Long, black, thick-bodied serpents, wrigglin an squirmin, more an more all the time. Suddenly, I realize my blood’s still drippin. The water starts to boil with snakes.
Ahh! I scramble back. Tracker’s goin crazy, barkin. Hermes screams an rears. There’s a snake writhin up his front leg. I lunge an fling it off. I grab a rock an wham it down on top of the thing. As I smash it dead, Hermes bolts fer safety. With a squeal of panic, he crashes off into the trees, down the path I noticed before.
No! I drop the rock an take off after him, Tracker at my heels.
Tracker an me run after Hermes. He’s already well outta sight. We’re on a good, bushwhacked trail that somebody’s takin care to keep clear. Maybe hunters, maybe somebody else. It’s the first real sign of life since we started this night-time ride, but I don’t welcome it. The quicker I find Hermes an git outta here, the better.
Our feet fall silent on the forest floor, soft an deep with fallen needle. I slide my bow off, pluck a arrow an string it as I run. I keep turnin, checkin my back, my sides, ready fer anythin. I can hear Nero above the trees, cawin to let me know he’s with us.
The night’s startin to wane in earnest, the day gainin ground fast. It’s much easier to see now, even here among the trees. Not far ahead, I can see that they open up. Looks like it might be a clearin. To be on the safe side, I move offa the trail an slip along between the trees. Tracker keeps close to my side. A strange smell starts to tickle my nose, prickle the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s sickly, thickly sweet. Then, sure enough, we’re at the edge of a clearin.
An lookin at a huge Wrecker temple. A mighty ruin that’s bein kept from fallin down completely by props, tarps an sheets of metal. Back when, it must of bin a sight to take yer breath away. Its stone walls still stand tall an proud, with arched window holes, fancy carvin work all around where the great door used to be. There’s a iron cross, tall as the trees around it.
There ain’t nobody in sight. Jest Hermes. He’s standin in the doorway, takin a look.
Hermes, I hiss.
With a swish of his tail, he steps inside.
I curse to myself. Bow at the ready, I start to inch my way outta the trees, checkin, checkin, checkin in every direction. That funny, sweet smell’s makin my scalp twitch.
Nero lands on the makeshift roof, peers in through a wide gap, then drops down an disappears. Great. First my horse an now my crow gone inside. But there ain’t no sounds of alarm – beast or otherwise – so that’s somethin at least.
I tread on silent feet across the clearin. Step around a pile of beast scat I don’t recognize. Tracker takes one sniff an backs away, whinin.
I spot a feather, caught on a tree branch at shoulder height. White an fluffy. But not from no bird I know.
With my back to the temple wall, I sidle myself towards the black hole of the doorway. I peer in. The faint light of grey sky slants in through holes an gaps. Nuthin moves. It’s all clear. I step inside.
I freeze. My skin goosebumps. Every hair on my head stands on end.
It’s full of skellentons. Big an small an every size in between. They sit close packed, side by side, on long wooden benches. They gleam whitely, dully, in the dim light. They’re all faced towards a raised stone platform at the far end. The wall behind it is covered, floor to roof, in skulls.
I take in the temple. It’s one great room, much longer than it is wide. A long aisle splits it in half down its length, makin a straight path from where I’m standin, jest inside the door, to that high wall of skulls. The rows of benches sit both sides of the aisle. Along the side walls stand wire cages full of bones. In the middle of the stone platform, there’s a shallow pit with a fire burnin. A heavy metal drum sits on a grill on top of the flames. Steam rises from the drum. That’s where the hair-frazzlin reek’s comin from.
It’s also where Hermes is. He stands at the foot of the platform, helpin hisself to a pile of dried timbergrass heaped there.
I start up the aisle towards him, on tiptoes. My head turns from side to side, takin in the skellentons on the benches. There’s hunnerds of ’em. Wires run through each of ’em, tetherin bone to bone. They sit neatly on their bony backsides. Patiently. Fer all the world like they’re waitin fer somethin. Well, they ain’t none of ’em in a hurry no more, that’s fer certain.
Some rest their hands on their knees. Some of the big ones hold hands with little ones. I keep espectin ’em to turn an stare at me with their hollow eyes. Nero hops from skull to skull, stoppin every now an then to stick his beak somewhere unspeakable. Tracker’s close, lookin up at me with anxious eyes, whinin till I hush him with a finger to my lips.
Whatever’s in the drum, it’s bubblin like fury. The stink of it’s jest about curdlin my liver. I step onto the platform to check it out.
The top of the drum comes to my chest. I cain’t see in. On the ground nearby, there’s a long pole with a tin bucket lashed to one end. A dipper. I pick it up. I lower it into the drum an fish around. Suddenly, it gits heavier. I got somethin. I lift the dipper out. I hand-over-hand the pole, bringin the bucket towards me. The smell’s makin me gag now.
I stare into the bucket. Foamy water. With globby white bits in it. Somethin large bobs to the surface. It turns over. Lazy. Casual. A face looks at me. A human face.
Aaaah! I yell. I drop the dipper an stagger back. The head surfs out an plops at my feet. I leap aside, stumblin, aimin my bow at it without thinkin. At this . . . this nightmare that used to be a man. My hands shake as I stare down at it.
No nose. No eyes. No lips. One ear, with a silver hoop ring. A thick patch of long dark hairs. Some flesh boiled away to the bone. The skin that’s left looks like a bloated, dead fish, drippin offa the skull in watery shreds.
Tracker’s barkin like mad.
No matter what. Well, I only got one horse an he needs a drink. Tracker too, he’s bin runnin all night. We won’t be long. A few seconds, that’s all. I slide down from Hermes.The water’s runnin fast an shallow over rocks.
Hang on, I says. I’ll check it out, make sure it’s—
Hermes pushes past me with a huffle as Tracker rushes into the stream an begins to drink. Nero lands on a rock an dips his beak in.
Guess it’s okay, I says.
We drink long an deep. The water ripples an swirls, black in this light. It’s icy cold an tastes flat, like stone. I look up at the sky as I sluice my face an arms. Dark clouds hide the moon. The last dregs of night tangle with forest shadows so’s you cain’t tell one from th’other. I squint. Looks like somebody’s cut a path into the trees on the north side of the Wraithway.
Nero takes off with a squawk. I go fer a last scoop of water. Ow! I whip my hands out, an suck at my left wrist. The iron taste of blood. I must of nicked it on a stone. I plunge it back in the water, swish it about to wash off the blood.
We better git goin, I says.
In a flash, Tracker’s outta the stream. He stares at it, stiff-legged, growlin.
I frown. What’s the matter with you? I says.
Somethin slips around my skin. Somethin long an sleek. I snatch my hand out an peer into the stream. I cain’t see proper, the light’s so bad, the water’s so dark.
The clouds clear the moon.
The stream’s alive with snakes. Long, black, thick-bodied serpents, wrigglin an squirmin, more an more all the time. Suddenly, I realize my blood’s still drippin. The water starts to boil with snakes.
Ahh! I scramble back. Tracker’s goin crazy, barkin. Hermes screams an rears. There’s a snake writhin up his front leg. I lunge an fling it off. I grab a rock an wham it down on top of the thing. As I smash it dead, Hermes bolts fer safety. With a squeal of panic, he crashes off into the trees, down the path I noticed before.
No! I drop the rock an take off after him, Tracker at my heels.
Tracker an me run after Hermes. He’s already well outta sight. We’re on a good, bushwhacked trail that somebody’s takin care to keep clear. Maybe hunters, maybe somebody else. It’s the first real sign of life since we started this night-time ride, but I don’t welcome it. The quicker I find Hermes an git outta here, the better.
Our feet fall silent on the forest floor, soft an deep with fallen needle. I slide my bow off, pluck a arrow an string it as I run. I keep turnin, checkin my back, my sides, ready fer anythin. I can hear Nero above the trees, cawin to let me know he’s with us.
The night’s startin to wane in earnest, the day gainin ground fast. It’s much easier to see now, even here among the trees. Not far ahead, I can see that they open up. Looks like it might be a clearin. To be on the safe side, I move offa the trail an slip along between the trees. Tracker keeps close to my side. A strange smell starts to tickle my nose, prickle the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s sickly, thickly sweet. Then, sure enough, we’re at the edge of a clearin.
An lookin at a huge Wrecker temple. A mighty ruin that’s bein kept from fallin down completely by props, tarps an sheets of metal. Back when, it must of bin a sight to take yer breath away. Its stone walls still stand tall an proud, with arched window holes, fancy carvin work all around where the great door used to be. There’s a iron cross, tall as the trees around it.
There ain’t nobody in sight. Jest Hermes. He’s standin in the doorway, takin a look.
Hermes, I hiss.
With a swish of his tail, he steps inside.
I curse to myself. Bow at the ready, I start to inch my way outta the trees, checkin, checkin, checkin in every direction. That funny, sweet smell’s makin my scalp twitch.
Nero lands on the makeshift roof, peers in through a wide gap, then drops down an disappears. Great. First my horse an now my crow gone inside. But there ain’t no sounds of alarm – beast or otherwise – so that’s somethin at least.
I tread on silent feet across the clearin. Step around a pile of beast scat I don’t recognize. Tracker takes one sniff an backs away, whinin.
I spot a feather, caught on a tree branch at shoulder height. White an fluffy. But not from no bird I know.
With my back to the temple wall, I sidle myself towards the black hole of the doorway. I peer in. The faint light of grey sky slants in through holes an gaps. Nuthin moves. It’s all clear. I step inside.
I freeze. My skin goosebumps. Every hair on my head stands on end.
It’s full of skellentons. Big an small an every size in between. They sit close packed, side by side, on long wooden benches. They gleam whitely, dully, in the dim light. They’re all faced towards a raised stone platform at the far end. The wall behind it is covered, floor to roof, in skulls.
I take in the temple. It’s one great room, much longer than it is wide. A long aisle splits it in half down its length, makin a straight path from where I’m standin, jest inside the door, to that high wall of skulls. The rows of benches sit both sides of the aisle. Along the side walls stand wire cages full of bones. In the middle of the stone platform, there’s a shallow pit with a fire burnin. A heavy metal drum sits on a grill on top of the flames. Steam rises from the drum. That’s where the hair-frazzlin reek’s comin from.
It’s also where Hermes is. He stands at the foot of the platform, helpin hisself to a pile of dried timbergrass heaped there.
I start up the aisle towards him, on tiptoes. My head turns from side to side, takin in the skellentons on the benches. There’s hunnerds of ’em. Wires run through each of ’em, tetherin bone to bone. They sit neatly on their bony backsides. Patiently. Fer all the world like they’re waitin fer somethin. Well, they ain’t none of ’em in a hurry no more, that’s fer certain.
Some rest their hands on their knees. Some of the big ones hold hands with little ones. I keep espectin ’em to turn an stare at me with their hollow eyes. Nero hops from skull to skull, stoppin every now an then to stick his beak somewhere unspeakable. Tracker’s close, lookin up at me with anxious eyes, whinin till I hush him with a finger to my lips.
Whatever’s in the drum, it’s bubblin like fury. The stink of it’s jest about curdlin my liver. I step onto the platform to check it out.
The top of the drum comes to my chest. I cain’t see in. On the ground nearby, there’s a long pole with a tin bucket lashed to one end. A dipper. I pick it up. I lower it into the drum an fish around. Suddenly, it gits heavier. I got somethin. I lift the dipper out. I hand-over-hand the pole, bringin the bucket towards me. The smell’s makin me gag now.
I stare into the bucket. Foamy water. With globby white bits in it. Somethin large bobs to the surface. It turns over. Lazy. Casual. A face looks at me. A human face.
Aaaah! I yell. I drop the dipper an stagger back. The head surfs out an plops at my feet. I leap aside, stumblin, aimin my bow at it without thinkin. At this . . . this nightmare that used to be a man. My hands shake as I stare down at it.
No nose. No eyes. No lips. One ear, with a silver hoop ring. A thick patch of long dark hairs. Some flesh boiled away to the bone. The skin that’s left looks like a bloated, dead fish, drippin offa the skull in watery shreds.
Tracker’s barkin like mad.
