Ancient Eyes Part 12

Abe stroked the pendant around his neck thoughtfully and stared out the front door of the chapel. "She's with us," he said softly. "She's with me. In a way, she always has been."

Others began to trickle in then, and Abe fell silent, returning to his place at the front of the church. He bowed his head, as if in prayer, and listened as footsteps dragged over stone. Men and women shuffled in and took seats along the stone pews, but he didn't watch or greet them. He heard hushed voices and felt the weight of their combined gaze, but he held his silence. He took one deep breath after another and calmed himself. He was not standing before them as Abraham Carlson, but as their spiritual leader. He knew the words. He knew the rituals and all the right things to say about nearly any situation that might arise. What he didn't know, and they didn't know, was if he had the faith to make it real. It was a lesson they'd learn together soon enough.

The sun crossed over noon and headed down the side of the mountain, and when he heard the door to the church pulled closed, he raised his head, scanned the half-empty pews and the fearful, expectant eyes, and began to speak. The words flowed easily, and he scarcely recognized his voice. To Abe it was his father's voice speaking through him. The words were gifts he'd held and treasured, and now returned.

He followed the rituals precisely. They expected no less. He spoke, and when the moments arrived, they responded. It was acknowledgment of his leadership. Together, they offered themselves, body and spirit, mind and soul to the mountain, and called for it to lend its strength in return. The air was electric with energy, and when their voices rose in song they shook the stone walls and shivered through the stone beneath them.

It was a short service, and when it was complete, they sat in silence. Their heads were bowed, and Abraham lowered his as well. He scarcely recalled what he'd said, but he knew that every word had been correct. He had not faltered in his litany, and they had not failed to respond.

He didn't raise his gaze from the stone altar, but he spoke again.

"I am the heart," he said. "I carry the blood of my father, and the blood of your fathers. I carry the blood of the mountain. Who will be my arm?"

Silence followed, then, drawn by the moment and the words, Harry George stood and stepped into the center aisle. He knelt there on the cold stone and responded.

"I will be your arm. I bear the sword of truth." Harry rose, and stepped up to stand beside Abraham. When his head was bowed, Abe spoke again.

"Who will balance my arm and carry the light of the sun to the shadows of the world?"

Jacob rose without hesitation and knelt as Harry had. "I will bear that light," he said. Then he rose and joined Abe and Harry behind the altar.

The ritual was the calling of the elders. Some of those who'd stood beside his father that long ago night remained, and he'd known they would stand with him. The others he was less sure of. It wasn't enough to answer the call. There were duties and responsibilities for each of them, and none of it could be neglected. If any single section of the cross he was forming failed, they all failed.

Abe took a deep breath and continued.

"Who will be my eyes and my ears? Who will watch the sky and lay their ear to the mountain's bone? Who will be my head?"

Barbara Carlson rose without hesitation. She stepped into the center aisle, stared straight ahead, then knelt and laid her forehead to the stone floor.

"I will be your head," she said in a strong, even voice. "I will watch the sky and hear the mountain."

She rose, walked to the altar, and turned. She knelt before the altar, her back to Abe, and bowed her head.

This was the moment of truth. None of the others present had been an elder in Jonathan Carlson's day. There were plenty of the faithful on hand, but that would not be enough. Someone needed to step forward and complete the cross.

"Who will be my back?" Abe asked solemnly. "Who will bear the weight of our sin and the flag of our hope? Who will watch what has come before for the truth of what shall be?"

There was a rustle of feet. Someone coughed. Abe's brow coated in sweat, and his heart raced. If none stepped forward the ritual would be broken.

A throat cleared, but Abe did not raise his eyes. He could not lead them into this choice, and he didn't trust his eyes not to show the desperation he felt. He tried to wipe thoughts of Katrina away and to concentrate, but he heard her voice echoing in his head. "No secrets."

Footsteps rang on the stone, and then stopped. "I will be your back."

The voice wavered slightly. It was high pitched, but it carried nicely. Abe breathed a sigh of relief. It was Cyrus Bates. Cyrus was older than any of them. He'd been on the mountain when Abe's father first stepped to this pulpit. He had never been an elder, but he'd seen more sunrises and sunsets on the mountain than any living being Abe knew of. Rail thin, but with the lean strength of a rawhide whip, Cyrus was the perfect completion to the cross. He knelt in the aisle slowly. The silence was deep and edged with power. Cyrus spoke again.

"I will bear the weight of the sins of our fathers. I will bear the flag of our faith. I guard what has come before that we may plan for the future."

He rose and climbed onto the altar. He pa.s.sed Jacob so closely that the sleeves of their shirts brushed. Cyrus took his place directly behind Abe and the four of them remained in place for a moment of silence. Abe raised his head and swept his eyes over the small gathering. At that moment he felt as if he could face down any threat. He was ready to step over the altar of the white church, sledgehammer in hand, and turn the pool and its false promises of cleansing into rubble.

He knew these were dangerous thoughts, and he suppressed them quickly. He concentrated and the words returned him to the moment.

"We are complete and stand as one," he said. "The heart beats, the sword and the sun stand ready, the eyes and ears are vigilant, and the weight of darkness cannot shake us."

"Amen." This single word was formed of all their voices. It was one sound, one voice, powerful and sure.

Abe scanned the faces uplifted before him. He couldn't see the elders, but there was plenty of time for that. The five of them would leave the church and climb the mountain to the cottage when the service ended. There were secrets to be shared, and not much time remained for that sharing.

He saw no doubt. Each of them met his gaze with confidence and a bright, burning light in their eyes. Most of them had lost someone to the white church below. Most of them had sat on these same stone pews when Abraham's father taught his message of peace and unity. Each bond drew them together more tightly. The room hummed with an energy and light that could not have been explained by the day's bright sunlight, or the whisper of voices.

He didn't speak again. He pulled the cross, with its gleaming, equal arms from beneath his shirt and held it in his hands. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. As he stood there, Barbara Carlson kneeling before him, Cyrus Bates at his back, and his two arms, Harry and Jacob, their heads bent in equally solemn postures of prayer, standing to either side, the moment dissolved.

He heard them rise. He heard the shuffling of their feet, and the whisper of their voices. He heard them leave, one by one, stepping into the late afternoon sunlight and dispersing like dust in a strong wind. When he finally raised his head and surveyed the chapel, it was empty.

"Will they come?" he asked. The words weren't directed at any one person, but at all four of those who remained.

"They'll come," Cyrus spoke from behind him. "A lot of bad, dark things have happened on this mountain. There's a lot of water under a lot of bridges. Their kin are dancing with the devil in that white abomination on down the mountain, and when it comes to family, they will always come. The blood flows in and out of the stone."

Abe felt the truth of it. He heard whispered voices belonging to none of those present, and he thought he recognized those of his parents in the mix. He was alive with a vitality he could not explain.

"We have a climb ahead of us," Barbara said. She rose and turned. "We'd best get to it."

Abe nodded, and they followed the others out the front of the old church. They turned up the second trail, and Abe marveled at how clear the ground was. The encroaching, shadowy branches of the trees had lifted away, and the ground was free of branches and leaves.

"No secrets," he whispered under his breath.

He felt mocking laughter in the wind. In two hours the sun would set. They climbed quickly, and they did not look back.

TWENTY-TWO.

Angel Murphy sat against the wall of the barn and stared at his captive. He was cloaked in shadow, out of her sight, and she had no way to know he was there. He'd watched her off and on from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. She was a pretty girl, and her fright only served to enhance this. Angel hadn't seen a pretty girl in a very long time, other than cousins and a few too young, or old, to be of interest.

The air in the old barn was musty. The animals were pastured, so there were no scuffling hooves or grunts in the background. Angel wished there were, because it could have masked any sounds he might make. He didn't want her to know he was there. Not yet. He didn't want to hear her voice again until he had to. It was too easy to imagine things she might say, promises she might make if she were frightened enough. "Watch her," Silas had said. "Watch her carefully, but don't touch her. We may need her before this is done." The problem was that despite Silas' orders, Angel needed her now. He had stood silently by as his brother Tommy hunted down the Carlson girl. Elspeth was too young, Angel thought, too naive and not yet fully formed. She was a girl, but Angel needed a woman. She squirmed in her bonds and shifted against the far wall. The sunlight that leaked in through the front door of the barn slowly spread across the floor toward her. Already one of her feet and a single slender ankle poked into the light. As the sun lowered in the west, more of her would be illuminated, until just before twilight fell, she'd be lit and fully visible, bound and dusty from her struggles.

Angel couldn't see her clearly, but he remembered a single strand of dark hair that curled down along her neck. It had matted with sweat and tears the day before, then streaked as dust plastered it to her face. Angel wanted to brush that strand of hair back. He wanted to lay his palm flat on her face and turn her eyes up to meet his gaze. He wanted to see what the hunger in his eyes brought out in her own. He still tasted her fear.

The girl shifted again, and her calf slid into the beam of sunlight. Angel traced the curve upward and remembered strong thighs, slim hips. Her hair distracted him. It was long and dark, like his mother's hair had been. He thought about running his fingers through it-gripping it and holding her still so that he could see her eyes. He grew uncomfortable and sat up a little straighter.

He knew that services had begun below. The church was lit brightly, and the girl, Elspeth, would soon taste the pool, and the cleansing. Angel remembered that pool. He remembered Reverend Kotz, as well. He wasn't as old as Silas, but he was old enough to remember that time before. He'd seen the dark, horned shadow and felt the touch of those deep, ancient eyes when he was a boy. He had made the forced march down the center aisle of the church so long ago that it played like a dream in his mind. His father didn't know. Tommy suspected, but even his little brother didn't know all the truth.

Angel kept his secrets to himself. He shared some things, like Janis Joplin and Bobby McGee, but the important things-the things that mattered to him and stuck with him, he told no one. Not even Silas Greene knew all of it, though Angel suspected that the man-or whatever he now was-had extracted a good deal more from his mind than it was possible to measure. Greene knew things he should not know, and he knew how to get Angel to do things he didn't necessarily want to do. These were facts Angel had come to terms with, and he made no protest. He didn't want to push it, because he didn't think Silas knew that he still had a choice, and he didn't want that choice removed.

Tommy was led around like a bull with a ring in his nose. Silas snapped his fingers, or waved his shadow horns through the air and Tommy snapped to. Might as well have been a marine, or an altar boy taking orders. Angel did what he was told and bided his time. He had been told to watch this girl, and he had been told to keep her safe. He could do that, and he probably would do that, but it was important to him to know that he did not have to do it. There would be h.e.l.l to pay the first time he acted on his own, but it was nice to have the hole card up his sleeve, all the same.

The girl stirred again. She wasn't as frightened as he'd first thought, or if she was, she hid it well. Angel watched as she scooted along the wall toward the light, and the door. She was tied carefully, and he knew she wouldn't get free of the binding, but he was interested to see how far she would get-and what she thought she could accomplish wasting her energy scooting along the floor.

She moved like an inchworm. First she kicked her legs forward, gained an inch or two, then dug in her heels and dragged herself along the wall. She used her hands behind her back as well as she could, but they were bound at the wrist and tight up against the small of her back. She'd nearly escaped in the back of Silas' store, and when Angel brought her to the barn he'd tightened the ropes almost cruelly.

She slipped fully into the light, and he caught his breath. The sun caught her full in the face, and she blinked. Her skin was streaked with sweat and dirt. Her hair was matted to her face, and to the side of her neck, but her eyes flashed with anger, and with the effort of each sliding shuffle toward the light. The top b.u.t.ton of her blouse was gone, and he saw tanned flesh beneath.

Angel pressed one arm between his legs and with his other hand he braced against the ground. He needed to stand up. He needed to walk away before the heat washed up and over him and he lost control. Silas Greene's dark eyes flashed through his mind, as if searching for him, and he flinched, but he didn't remove the arm from between his legs. He rocked up and back, closed his eyes, and tried to blank his mind.

He didn't quite make it. Darkness filled his thoughts, deep and black, but instead of bringing him peace, another scene shimmered into focus. It was the white church as it had been. It was dark, but light streamed from every window of the place. Low voices rumbled in a rhythmic chant that fell short of music, but resonated through the ground and up through his bones.

He was late. He knew what might happen if he came to the church late. He knew that Reverend Kotz would single him out and draw him to the pool. He'd been to the pool before, and he did not want to go again, but the power of their voices itched at his senses, and the lights blazing from the windows showed him the silhouetted shadows of those dancing within. He thought of the serpents. He thought of the others, dancing so close to one another their flesh shared sweat and their breath heated the body of whoever was closest. He took a step forward, then another-and then he stopped.

Other voices floated through the night. Angel melted back into the trees and slipped through the shadows toward the sound. Everyone who should be in the church was already there. They were all as aware as he was of the consequences of arriving late. There might be others, hiding as he was and wishing they'd been faster, but they would not be singing in the trees.

As he neared the voices he heard footsteps, and he saw wavering lights bobbing along the trail. Angel's thoughts whirled, but he held his silence, and he moved as silently as his slight frame would carry him. He reached a vantage point from which he could see the trail where it approached the church, but not be seen by those walking it, and he waited.

Moments later, the lights came into sharper focus. A small pool of illumination washed over the trees and path and he saw them clearly. It was the reverend from the stone church on the mountain, Reverend Carlson. He held a vial of some sort in his hand, crystal and glittering in the flickering light of torches and candles. Directly before him a woman walked. She held a small brazier carefully in small, slender fingers, and smoke curled up from it to be lost in the shadowed branches above. To Reverend Carlson's left, his brother Jacob walked. Angel caught his breath. On the right side, keeping perfect step with the others, walked his father. Ed Murphy's eyes blazed with light of their own, and his steps were steady.

Another man walked behind Reverend Carlson, but Angel couldn't make out who it was. There was a small group trailing along behind, matching the steps and rhythm of the five who led the way. Angel saw at least one child among them, hanging back near the rear, and recognized Abraham Carlson. He knew Abe vaguely; they'd met a few times, though Abe was several years Angel's junior, and not worth much attention.

He knew almost all of them. Their voices rose in a bright song that echoed from the peaks above and filled the air around them with energy. Angel stepped back a bit further into the shadows, as if that energy might reach out, grab him by his shirt and drag him onto the trail behind them. They were headed straight for the front doors of the white church, and when Angel shifted his gaze back to that familiar structure, he saw that things had changed inside. The chanting was no less frenzied, and it hummed just as powerfully through the stone underfoot, but Reverend Kotz was moving down the aisle toward the main door, cutting a swath through the others, who fell away like children before him.

Angel caught his breath. He felt the power surging in opposite directions. The grounds between the line of trees and the doors to the church were a battleground. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. If the ground had raised and rippled toward the group on the path like a giant mole, or a snake chewed it up, Angel would not have been surprised.

Instead, they stopped and stared at the church, and at that moment Reverend Kotz reached the doors and slammed them open, letting the sickly greenish light from within the church leak out around him. He glowed in that backlight and his eyes blazed. Above his head, the antlers rose, tall and dark, and swept through the doorframe and up toward the ceiling inside and the roof beyond.

The voices of the group on the trail didn't falter. They continued their song, and behind Reverend Kotz, the chant droned on as well, louder with the doors open. Bodies swayed and whirled. Serpents lifted their heads toward the rafters and slithered over arms and about the necks of the faithful.

Angel stifled a cry as the mark on his forehead throbbed with sudden pain. He took half a step toward the church, but managed to stop himself. He grabbed the trunk of a tree tightly, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the rough bark, moaning at the pain.

A splinter of old wood buried itself in his skin, and Angel pressed off hard. He tumbled away from the barn's wall and rolled in the dirt, both hands clamped to his forehead. A moment later he sat up, spit dirt and old straw off his lips, and stared around himself in confusion. The sun had dropped another foot, but the sunlight still illumined the girl's figure. She leaned against the wall and stared at him. Her expression was startled, and he knew that until he'd made the sound she hadn't known he was there.

He glanced down and saw that he still had his arm pressed tightly between his legs, and he pulled it away slowly. He shook his head and turned to stare at the wall. He had no idea how he'd spun around, or how long he might have been lost in that shadow world of memory. His head rang with the chanting voices, and those of the others. He still saw a strobed image of Reverend Kotz, silhouetted in the doorway of the old white church. Each time his pulse pounded in his head, the image shifted and he saw the girl again.

His head throbbed painfully, and he grimaced. The mark had faded over the years, and he'd almost forgotten that it had once been there. His father had never forgiven him his a.s.sociation with Reverend Kotz, but time heals the darkest wounds, and the two had come to almost civil terms over time. Now they had something new in common. All of them had been in the woods the night Silas left his mark, and all of them bore it in their own way. Angel had no idea what part his father now played in Silas Greene's plans, but he knew the man could no more walk away from it than he could, or Tommy.

Angel rose and walked over to where the girl sat. She cringed and pressed back into the wall, but there was still a spark of defiance in her eyes. She didn't speak, and he was pleased. He'd told her to be quiet, and not to speak unless spoken to. It was good to see that, even if she wasn't as frightened as she might be, she was at least frightened enough to listen.

Angel stared off across the field toward the trees and squinted. He didn't see anyone on the path. The afternoon was almost gone to evening. The tops of the trees glistened with yellow light from the setting sun and the shadows ran longer every minute where they stretched out of the trees. The longer he stood and stared at the trees, the more aware he became of the woman, and the more aware he became of the woman, the more he wished that Tommy, or someone, would walk down that path and tell him the time had come to bring her to the church. "What are you going to do with me?" She had been so quiet that he'd forgotten she wasn't gagged.

d.a.m.n her.

Angel didn't reply. He stepped out the door of the barn and took a few steps toward the trees and the path leading off toward the church. If he walked another ten yards he'd have a clear view down the first quarter mile or so of trail to where it took its first winding turn. He debated with himself as her voice echoed in his mind.

She spoke again. He heard the fear in her voice, but there was more. She had courage. Angel tried not to think about her long legs. He hummed Bobby McGee softly to himself, but that did no good. He started imagining driving off with her, her shirt open to the waist and her hands tied behind her neck to the headrest. The windshield wipers would keep time as he stroked her and explored her flesh. He had dreamed of it. In his back pocket, the bandanna still hung limply out behind him.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked. "Where's Abe?"

Angel sighed. His forehead throbbed, but he ignored the pain. When it grew more intense, he gritted his teeth into the grim semblance of a smile. He walked to her without a word and dropped to his knees in the dirt. He stared at her, and as he did, his hand moved to his crotch of its own volition. He wanted to lick his lips, but he had to clench his teeth against the pain. It was too much to ask, he thought to himself. Too much for him to bear. He would take her, here and now, and then he would lead her to the church, whether they were ready or not. Silas Greene might have great shadow antlers and powers he could call on when he was weak, but Angel did not. All the powers called on him instead, and they called through his throbbing erection for release.

Angel yanked his gaze from her p.r.o.ne form and crossed the barn in four quick steps. There was a workbench at the back where he and Tommy sat most days, drinking, smoking, and talking about things they would never do and people they would never know. At the back of the bench sat a battered tape deck.

Angel slapped the rewind b.u.t.ton, waited for the solid, satisfying click that signified the end of the tape, and pressed play.

Moments later the rough guitar intro rippled through the barn followed by the throaty, cigarettes and whiskey voice of Janis Joplin. As she sang of Baton Rouge and truck drivers, Angel returned to the girl's side.

She stared up at him in horror. Her lips parted, as if she intended to ask another question. Angel ma.s.saged himself and stared down at her. As he dropped to his knees in the dirt beside her, she screamed.

TWENTY-THREE.

The curtains fell closed behind Silas with a whisper. He and Tommy stood alone in the rear chamber, just for a moment. Their eyes locked. Elspeth, still under the influence of the drink that Tommy had poured down her throat, struggled weakly. Tommy held her easily by his grip in her hair. He hardly seemed to notice. His gaze was expectant and hungry.

Silas smiled, and as he did, the curtains parted again. The others filed in slowly. They surrounded the pool with short, mincing steps, trapped in the rhythm of the chant. The spiral formed as they filled the room, much as it had formed the night of the bonfire. The difference was that they were aware of its formation. Silas stood on one side of the pool, Tommy on the other. When the room would hold no more, Silas held up a hand, and they halted. They rocked back and forth like human metronomes as he turned to the pool and placed his hands on the cool surface of the stone rim. Silas gestured to the first four in the line. They stepped forward and took places around the pool. The others crowded in and filled the vacant spots with a soft murmur. Their voices rustled like a thousand bats taking off all at once. Silas nodded at Tommy, who drew the girl in front of him. Her struggles were more frantic, but Tommy lifted her easily. As he lifted her over the edge of the pool, the two others closest to him grabbed her legs and ankles and they turned her horizontal to the floor, suspended above the pool. The surface of the water was smooth and dark. As Elspeth struggled, her arms and legs held out to both sides and Tommy with his hands beneath her shoulders, supporting her weight, something bubbled up from the base of the pool and swirled around the edge. It was just a single ripple, but it swirled around the inner rim of the pool and spiraled in toward the center.

Elspeth heard it and cried out softly. She struggled again, and Silas stepped to his left. He dipped his fingers into the pool, brought them up dripping cool water, and traced his fingers down the length of her foot. The liquid slid off her smooth, bare skin and dripped back into the pool. The water swirled slowly, following the direction of Silas's motion. He stepped around the first of those bearing Elspeth's weight. He dipped his fingers into the pool again and let his hand fall palm flat on Elspeth's thigh. The water soaked her jeans, though there was only a drop or two on Silas' hand. It started as a dark spot and rolled outward, a paper-towel absorbency commercial gone mad. He trailed his hand up until it rested between her legs.

Elspeth shook. Her body vibrated like it was caught in a grinder, and Silas pulled his hand away again, and continued around the outer rim of the pool. He stopped every step to dip his hand into the water, scoop the clear liquid up and spread it over Elspeth's writhing form. Each time he brought droplets of the pool water to her clothing the material soaked instantly. The water sought its own, slipped through denim and cotton toward the last stain, and down toward the pool.

The chant in the background shifted rhythm. The water sloshing in the pool gained a tempo and beat of its own, and the voices joined it. Silas stood beside Tommy and dipped his hand once again. Something swirled in the pool, up and over his fingers. Silas didn't flinch, but Tommy's gaze was locked on the pool. His body was torn between what held him in place and the terror that rose like bile in the back of his throat. The bile took on an earthy taste of loam and sap, and he remembered. He flashed on the trail behind Silas' store and the deep gra.s.s, the leaves and the soaring trees. The pool swirled faster and he lifted his gaze to meet those of the two men standing across from him. Silas moved on. He slipped around behind Tommy and started back the far side of Elspeth's body, dipping his hand into the frothing pool and splashing the water over her form.

Silas stepped up to the foot of the pool, between Elspeth Carlson's spread-eagled legs. Her jeans were soaked. Her shirt clung to her like a second skin, but the water did not seem as clear as it had when Silas dipped it out. It was green, and it clung like syrup. Like sap. It wound its way down Elspeth's body and dropped into the pool with loud, counterpoint splashes that somehow matched the chanting and the churning of the water to form a single chaotic, but deeply organized sound.

Silas reached out to the man on his left. A single serpent wound free of the man's throat and slid around Silas' arm. It slithered inward, coiled once around his throat, as if it might squeeze, and then arced up and across the gap between Silas and Elspeth.

The girl was beyond thought. Her body responded to each touch as if she were being a.s.saulted by blowtorches. Her head was thrown back so that the ends of her hair nearly touched the water of the pool. In fact, it would have done so, but Tommy Murphy had his hands under her shoulders, and her long hair dangled across his arms. He felt the fire too, but not in the same way as Elspeth, and not to the same degree. His fire was concentrated, below, and at the tips of his fingers-through the palms of his hands. Hers consumed.

The serpents coiled and slithered from all sides. They ran down the arms of those who held her in place, circling Elspeth's legs, coiling around her arms and her waist, under and through her clothes, and all the while the chant continued. The water dripped. The pool swirled. Something moved in the depths. The surface was green and frothy and the liquid in the pool was thick.

Silas felt the connection form. He felt the eyes of the watcher bore through him, even as her hair sprang like talons through the stone and into the water. The shadow rose, huge and powerful above and just behind him. In that moment he felt a dislocation. He wanted to scream. The pain of the separation threatened to tear him to pieces, but he reached out, laid one hand on each of Elspeth's ankles, and pressed down firmly.

The others felt the motion and didn't fight it. They lowered Elspeth toward the pool with exquisite precision. The water sped, swirling so quickly that some of it sluiced to the sides and over the edge of the pool. It dripped down to the floor, soaking the pants of those standing closest. Tommy felt the wet chill of it. When the liquid splashed against him it was hot and thick, but the second the droplets lost contact with the pool they were simply water. His jeans were soaked and he felt the cold water slip down his ankles and into his boots.

It should have felt good. The sun outside was hot, and there was little circulation in the church, but Tommy shivered. Icicles drove into his feet and numbed his skin. His arms burned. The closer they came to the surface of the pool, the hotter the points of contact with Elspeth's flesh became. Tommy's mind screamed at him to pull back, to let her drop, hit her head on the side of the pool, and be done with it. He held his ground.

Whatever was in the baptismal pool splashed again, and Tommy had the sudden image of an aquarium. He saw tiny flakes of golden brown food dropping to the surface. He saw Elspeth. Fish swarmed up from the depths of his memory, s.n.a.t.c.hing the food from the surface and dragging it down. Eat or be eaten was the rule in the water. Whoever was bigger and faster than you was the one to eat you.

To his right, Irma Creed gripped Elspeth's arm and shoulder. Tommy saw Irma tremble, and knew she felt the fire. To his right a man he barely knew as Jason had the same, focused expression. What he might be focused on was anyone's guess. Tommy's forehead throbbed. He had to think between the thudding bursts of pain, and there wasn't much time between each.

Ed Murphy stood between Silas and Irma, a little closer to Irma than necessary, Tommy noted, but no one seemed to care. In fact, their legs touched in the center.

The chant softened and dropped into the background. Silas held Elspeth's ankles and spoke.

"We bring this offering to be cleansed. Water," he glanced down, "Fire," his hands sizzled where they touched Elspeth's flesh, "Earth," her legs and shoulders brushed the stone of the pool and the contact became solid, as if Elspeth and the pool were a single object, "and Air." Silas breathed this last, and his breath rose from deep inside, tearing up through him and drawn from his contact with the stone floor, stretching up and filling the huge horned shadows, blowing hot and tepid over their faces and arms. Those gathered swayed like the serpents they bore, and those snakes still wrapped around Elspeth's body fled, leaping up and out, away from the heat of her flesh and the depths of the pool, finding purchase on those who held the girl in place and coiling tightly.