Unwept (22 page)

“Where did I go, Alicia?” Ellis asked quietly.

Alicia turned her face to Ellis, her large eyes shining in the moonlight, her face stained and filthy. “Mortality.”

“Get ready!” Ely muttered under his breath, pulling his feet under him and rising to a crouch. “We've got to get down to the end of these buildings and cross the street past the church!”

Ellis struggled to her feet, following Ely along the back of the ruins. She glanced back at the young woman behind her. “Come on, Alicia. It's not far.”

“Go home, Ellis.” Alicia stood still, her party dress torn and soot stained. She flashed a sad smile at Ellis. “You're terrible at this game. It won't hurt me … I
know
what it wants!”

“Alicia!” Ellis called out as loudly as she dared. “No!”

“Don't get caught, Ellis.” Alicia laughed as she ran, a giggling, hideous cackle of hysteria. She skipped along behind the burned-out shells of the southern shops and turned the corner toward the street, vanishing from sight.

Alicia's cackle became a terrified scream as the shadow of the beast cast itself over the ruins where she ran. The screams echoed on and on through the streets as the unseen creature snarled. Unspeakable rending sounds like the tearing of wet cloth merged with the shrieks.

“Run!” Ely shouted. “Run now!”

Ellis gathered up her skirts and ran after Ely. The horrible sounds followed them, fading slightly with every rushed footfall. They came to Sycamore Street. Ellis could see the park on the far side of the road with the burned-out shell of the church beyond.

“Keep running,” Ely urged. “Don't look back!”

Ellis followed at a run in Ely's footsteps, crossing Elm and plunging headlong into the park. The screams and the rending sounds had stopped, but the howling had continued. She could feel her party shoes slipping on the wet grass as she rushed up the incline of the park. The blackened pews were achingly close, each facing the exposed lectern at the southernmost end. Ely was running faster than she could keep up, heading toward the southern corner of the gutted structure.

“This way!” called a hoarse voice. “Quick now!”

Ellis saw Ely hesitate and then dash directly toward the church. She followed Ely's course, the howling behind her increasing with every step. As she passed the farthest trees she saw it: the black abyss of an open door beckoning her into the basement of the badly damaged rectory at the back of the collapsed chapel.

It reminded her of an open grave, but the baying drove her forward and she plunged into the darkness.

A strong, rough hand caught her at the waist, a second clamped at once over her mouth.

“Quiet now, miss,” came the whisper. “Be calm.”

Thunderous footfalls pounded the ground around her. The burnt smell was overwhelming in the pitch blackness. The beast moved somewhere in that darkness and all Ellis could do was tremble in the strong arms that held her. The deafening screams of the frustrated beast pierced her soul. Then there followed another terrible crash and the footfalls of the creature grew more faint.

Suddenly they vanished altogether.

Ellis shook violently in the strong grip but dared not struggle.

Ellis heard Ely whisper from the darkness to her right, “Do you think—”

“Quiet, lad,” warned the man who held her from behind. “Not yet.”

Ellis felt as though she could hardly breathe. The moments in the darkness stretched into an eternity before the rough voice behind her spoke again.

“I think that's enough now,” the man said softly. “Ely, be a good lad. There's a hurricane lamp on the table just behind you and a box of matches as well. Give us a little light, will you now?”

“But that thing…” Ely protested.

“I've blanketed the windows, boy, and the door as well,” the voice replied gruffly. “We're as safe as I can make us.”

Ellis heard the fumbling in the darkness. The flare of the match strike was momentarily blinding. It subsided into a dim, warm glow. Ely's back took the shape of a silhouette in the darkness as the glimmer from the lantern in front of him strengthened and grew. She could see that they were in the shattered remains of the church basement. Thick blankets had been nailed up over the broken windows and at the edges of the door. Timbers had been set up to brace the ceiling and one sagging wall. There was a single salvaged pew at one side of the space and a pair of mismatched chairs. Several maps of Gamin and its environs were tacked to the scorched far wall.

The rough hands slowly released Ellis. She stepped away at once, turning to face the man with the sad eyes and the hound-dog face.

“This is Captain Isaiah Walker,” Ely said as though he were introducing them at tea. “Captain, Miss Ellis Harkington.”

“Miss Harkington.” The captain took off his stocking cap and bowed awkwardly. “No need to worry here, ma'am. That thing don't much care for sniffing around the church—never has from what I hear. Not too fond of it myself, if you take my meaning. We've a little time, anyway, before it comes back.”

“There's a problem, Captain,” Ely said, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Problem?” Walker said, turning to Ely. “You said she knew the gate, Ely?”

“No!” Ellis said, exasperated and confused.

Both men turned to her.

“No!” she repeated, tears filling her eyes. “I
don't
know anything! I don't know where I am, or who I am, or who you
think
I am or anything about this gate everyone keeps asking me about!
Where am I? What is this place?”

“You haven't
told
her?” Walker said, turning his accusing eye back on the young man.

“You know the rules,” Ely said, a whine creeping into his tone. “We've tried everything we could think of to help her—”

“You Gamin folk and your games! You wouldn't know truth if it bit you on the street,” Walker snarled. He turned back to Ellis, gesturing toward one of the chairs. “Please sit down, miss. I need to tell you a little story and we don't have a lot of time for it.”

Ellis considered protesting for a moment, but the truth was her legs felt uncertain under her. She reached for the back of the chair and lowered herself onto the cushion carefully.

Walker grabbed the wooden chair and set it a few feet in front of Ellis, its back toward her. He then sat on the chair, his legs straddling the back and his large arms resting on the top edge of the chair. “What's the first thing you remember, lass?”

Ellis hesitated. “I was on the train, coming into Gamin. Miss Disir—Finny Disir—was riding with me. There was a baby in a basket—”

The captain raised his thick eyebrows at this. “And what do you remember before that?”

“Well, nothing really,” Ellis said. “Nightmares, dreams, perhaps, but nothing more.”

“No one dreams here, Miss Ellis,” the captain said, shaking his head. “Those were memories, not dreams.”

“What do they mean?” Ellis asked.

“Well, lass, maybe this little tale will help answer that. This story happened long before your little train ride,” Walker began. “Before your nightmares and even before the day you were born into the world.”

“Walker, don't,” Ely said, fear evident in his voice. “You know it's against the rules … we're
never
to speak of it.”

Walker swatted a hand in Ely's direction as though waving away a fly. “There was a time when all souls of heaven came together to consider the course they would chart for their mortal lives. The king called on two princes of heaven to map the way. But these two princes had different ideas about which course to take, see? One of them said, ‘Let's get born into the mortal world, live out our days and do what we're told like the good seagoing hands we all want to be and once we've had our mortal time we'll all come back again and be none the wiser.' That seemed right fair to about a third of us; we put in our work and get our pay without having to bother about having any responsibility for ourselves. But there was this other prince who had a different course in mind: it were a stormy one with difficult seas and unseen breakers. That were because no one were there to tell us what course we should steer—we would have to captain our own souls through the world of trouble and some of us would founder, but those what found their way would be captains in their own right and the stronger for it.”

“That's … a fanciful story, Captain Walker,” Ellis said, voicing a calm that she did not feel.

“Oh, it be more than a story, ma'am,” Walker said, resting his chin atop his hands on the chair's back as he spoke. “You see, there was such disagreement about which of these courses should be steered that there was a war between them souls.”

“A war in heaven,” Ely added.

“Aye, a war in heaven,” Walker continued. “And in this war, these souls had to choose their side. Most went with the second prince—”

“He was the first prince,” Ely corrected.

“I'm telling the story!” Walker barked, then lowered his voice to continue, “Most followed this second prince, confident they could navigate the difficult course. A third of us followed the first prince hoping for an easier course to follow. In the end, this second prince had defeated his brother. Them what followed the first prince were cheated out of our turn to walk the mortal world and only them of the second prince were born and lived out their mortal lives.”

Isaiah leaned forward on his chain, coming closer to Ellis.

“So these souls chose one side or the other—but not all,” Walker said quietly. “Them that chose the first prince went to hell. Them that chose the second prince went to heaven. But there were
another
crew that neither of the princes had a place for … them that decided
not to choose at all
.”

“Decided not to choose?” Ellis shook her head. “That makes no sense!”

“Well, that depends upon your tack,” Walker said, leaning back on his chair. “The gist of it was that they did not wish to choose at all. They wished to abstain from this War in Heaven and chose neither prince one way or the other. There was no place in heaven for them, for they had not chosen heaven's course. There was no place in hell for them, either. Neither of the princes, under the law of the king, could claim them. So, can you guess what happened to these troublesome souls?”

Ellis closed her eyes.

Merrick smiled at her, his arm sweeping outward. She saw the town for the first time and was delighted.…

“They came here,” Ellis murmured as she opened her eyes.

“Quite right.” Walker smiled, but his eyes reflected a deep sadness. “To a place beyond heaven and beyond hell. To a place of the doubly damned—unfit for either.”

“It's a prison then?” Ellis asked.

“No, folks leave here from time to time in various ways and for various reasons,” Walker said. “But none of them ever left the way
you
did, Miss Ellis … and none of them
ever
came back.”

“Back.” Ellis nodded slowly. “Back from where?”

“Life,” Walker said simply. “Back from mortality.”

Ellis turned toward Ely. “Am I dead, then?”

“We don't know—maybe.” Ely turned away from her as he spoke. “Or near death, perhaps. We don't really know enough about it to say. At least, if you
are
dead, you must have lived once, and that's a great deal more than any of us can say.”

“All we really know is that you found a way out of Gamin and into the mortal world without having to submit either to heaven or hell,” Walker said as he stood up. “That makes you our best hope of escaping Gamin. You found the gate once, Miss Ellis; you need to be finding it again.”

“Alicia said I was somewhere south of town when I found this gate before—”

“It's not there anymore,” Ely said, anxiety rising in his voice. “We've looked. Merrick must have moved it after you were gone.”

“These fools have it all wrong, Miss Ellis,” Walker said, his eyes glancing up at the sagging ceiling above them. “You don't have to
remember
where it was … you have to realize where it is now.”

The fog rolled away, revealing the town far below them. “Name it,” Merrick said. “Name our new home.…”

“We … we were ab-b-bove the town,” Ellis stammered, struggling with the impressions that flashed through her mind. “It was my favorite place … our first place.”

Ely looked up slowly. “Did you feel that?”

“Gamin,” she said as she looked down. “We'll call it Gamin.”

Merrick smiled at her. “A fine joke indeed!”

The captain ignored Ely, concentrating on Ellis. “What did you see there?”

“A bay in summer. There were little boats on the water down below us.” Ellis smiled softly with the memory, but it faded into another thought. “No, another bay in winter. There were large ships: iron and rust and darkness.”

“The mountain,” Walker said. “The mountain to the northwest. That could be it. All we need to do is—”

The trumpeting roar of the beast blew apart the ceiling overhead. Ellis fell sideways out of her chair onto the floor. Ely and Walker both recoiled from the blast, their arms raised to shield them against the tumult of debris.

Ellis looked up and screamed.

A hole gaped overhead. Beyond it was a hoary, gigantic shape silhouetted against the moonlit clouds beyond. Its form was that of an enormous jackal, at least fifteen feet high to its muscular shoulders. Its wide grinning mouth was filled with gleaming teeth and its featureless eyes shone with unnatural light. Its ears lay flat against its wide head while impossible leathery wings, sprouting from between its shoulders, spread out to cover the clouds.