Angel Fall (14 page)

The trail led into a mass of tall bushes. As she pushed through, to her surprise she came upon a rusty iron gate. “Look at this. Maybe somebody lives here.” When she tried to open it, it fell to pieces. Beyond lay a path through gnarled trees. Another hundred feet and she came out into a clearing. Squatting in the middle of it was the ugliest house that she had ever seen. Black moss hung from the eaves and all the windows were broken. Once it had been large, but sometime in the distant past lightning had struck and most of it had burned. Now it was a shanty of rotten wood. Through the windows Amanda could see a fireplace. Flames and smoke were billowing into a crumbled chimney.

“Somebody
does
live here. Maybe they’ll help us.” Trying to stop shivering, she called out, “H
ELLOOO
…”

No answer.

Carefully she climbed creaky stairs onto a creakier porch.

“Is…anybody home?” She knocked on the door.

Still no answer.

Almost overcome with exhaustion, Amanda tried the knob. The metal felt greasy, but it turned and the door swung open. Stepping inside, she looked around.

“Is…anybody here? Anybody…at all?”

Before her lay a room of unutterable filthiness. There was no furniture except for a rat-chewed couch facing the fireplace and a broken table lying in a heap near the door. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling and the walls were caked with grime. The chimney must have been partially blocked because wisps of foul smoke drifted everywhere. She coughed. The smell was nauseating. At any other time in her life Amanda would have run from such a squalid hovel. But the fire was hot and her body ached so much that the only thing she could think about was getting warm. She walked over to the couch. It was crusted with soot, but she just couldn’t stand up any longer. Holding the little boy so he wouldn’t touch the filth, she half fell onto the cushions.

“Okay…we’ll just stay here for a minute. Then we’ll leave.” But as soon as she sat down, she was asleep.

A
crash!

Amanda’s eyes flew open.

It was dark. The only light was coming from the fireplace. She was still on the couch in the filthy room. Suddenly from behind her came a screeching, grating voice, “Well, well, well, so what have we got here?”

A
t the sound of the voice, Amanda jumped up and turned. The quick movement was so painful that she almost fainted. Standing in the doorway was a little man of immense ugliness: black sparkling eyes and a scruffy beard that sprouted in long tufts from his grime-smeared face. The rest of his head was bald. Tattered rags thick with dirt hung from his scrawny limbs. The crash had come because he had dropped a load of firewood. Amanda was so terrified that she couldn’t move.

Slowly the little man stalked toward her. “Well, well, well, well…an intruder in my house.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Sorry? You saw the signs. They’re everywhere. Keep Out! Private Property! No Trespassing! Intruders Will Be Executed!”

“I didn’t see any of them.”

“Then you’re either blind or stupid. And where did you get that baby? Did you kidnap him? You’re a kidnapper, aren’t you?”

“I’m not. He belongs to…a friend. I’m…taking him home.”

The little man glared at her. Then a shrewd look came into his unblinking eyes. “Are you…ill?”

“Yes. I’m…really sick. We need…help.”

“Is that right?
Well, how fortunate you are. First, because I’m a kindhearted man, and even though you’re an intruder I see that you haven’t stolen any of my possessions, So I shall overlook your felonious entry. Second, I happen to be a physician. My name is Doctor Pilfius Bordre Wanderspoon, and I don’t mind saying that I am a medical prodigy of the first order, a learned professor of the physical sciences, a master of the arcane virtues that pertain to the mysteries of primary, secondary, and even tertiary pubescent senescence. In a word, I am an intellectual colossus. But I’m sure you understood the nature of the master who lived here from a single glance at my magnificent library, in which resides the sum of all wisdom.” His hand swept toward the empty walls. But then he leaned close with a menacing look. “You didn’t touch any of my books, did you?”

Amanda was confused and frightened. “No…but…I don’t see any books.”

Instantly his eyes crackled with rage. “No books? Really? You don’t see any books at all? None there…or there…or there?” He dashed from one side of the room to the other pointing at empty space. Miserably she shook her head.

“Well, what exactly do you see?”

“Just…a room…with nothing in it. Except a couch…and a broken table.”

The rage vanished and was replaced with dripping sympathy. “My poor child, it’s as bad as that, is it? The disease has progressed that far? Well, describe my home. How does it appear to you?”

“It’s…old…and…a little…dirty.”

“Dear infected creature, my home is spotless, and you are surrounded with rapacious luxury. The walls are hung with masses of silver brocade, and the floors writhe with the endless intricacies of the finest golden filigree. The stairs are a torrent of marble, and my chandeliers drip with precious stones. You can see none of that?”

“No.”

He shook his head. “Then I have all the information I need to make a complete diagnosis. Many times I have encountered this horrible disease. Oh, yes, thousands of times. In its advanced stages there is a total dislocation from reality. The sufferer believes the exact opposite of that which is actually true. Black becomes white, cleanliness becomes filth, good becomes evil. What am I wearing?”

“Kind of…like…rags?”

“I am dressed in a spotless white smock and trousers befitting a world-renowned practitioner of the medical arts. Here, give me the child and let me examine the skin on your stomach.”

Stepping closer, he reached out grimy hands. The little boy was staring at him intently. For a split second Wanderspoon’s eyes locked onto his. Instantly the man jumped back as though he had come face-to-face with a cobra. Sweat beaded on his bald head. “On second thought, you hold the brat. I can examine you just fine the way you are.” He began circling the girl. “Pitiful, pathetic, vile, horrid. Are you aware that you are dying?”

Amanda gulped, fighting back tears.

“And when you are dead, do you want to know what you’re going to look like?”

Rushing over to the firewood, he picked up a log, then ran back and stuck it in front of her. She thought she was going to faint. It was cut from one of the white trees. Beneath the bark she could see the shadow of a face. A girl’s face. And there was no life in it.

“Go ahead, take a good look. Very soon that will be you. And as you die, you’ll be in excruciating, mind-wrenching, gut-ripping agony.”

He threw the log into the fire.

“But I am such a merciful man. Whenever I find someone like you in the forest, as an act of kindness, I cut them into pieces and burn them up. Perhaps I should do that right now and put you out of your misery.”

Amanda’s legs collapsed. Landing on the couch, she stared at the burning log.

“Ah, has my penchant for honesty overcome you? Has the plenitude of my propinquitous rationality given you pause? Forgive me, my dear child. As a physician, I know well the value of a positive outlook in the direst of circumstances. How else can one travel through this horrendous morass that we call living, which concludes in an endless nonsentient void? So, no matter how hopeless and utterly vile your situation, never give up! Push on! Keep a stiff upper lip! Hope for the best! Think good thoughts! Pray for that miracle that will never come! However, while you’re praying, I would suggest that you consider a medical reality. Wherever you’re going, forget it. You’ll never get there. Look at your stinking arm. Look, look, look.”

Amanda stared at her arm. From her hand to her shoulder it was covered with thick white bark.

“Now, if you don’t mind, as you continue to maintain an uplifting, positive attitude, I’d appreciate it if you’d walk into the yard and turn into a tree out there. Then, when I chop you down my spotless floor won’t get covered with human sawdust.”

She began to cry. What he had told her was true. She was dying. The journey was over. Her arms and legs were so stiff that she could barely move them.

Wanderspoon bent close, being careful not to touch the baby, who continued to stare at him. “My poor young friend, who could have sent you alone into this awful wilderness? Well, whoever it was they knew that you would die here. A kind of human sacrifice, I suppose that’s what you are. Someone gave you this infant to take somewhere. Well, they didn’t do it themselves, did they? Child abuse, that’s what it is. Double child abuse. And I cannot abide child abuse. If you’re going to kill a child, do it quickly, do it mercifully. Be humane about it. Don’t let it suffer. Don’t send it on useless journeys. Whoever did this is an evil coward.”

As she listened to the droning voice, Amanda was overwhelmed with the blackest despair that she had ever known. Like foul smoke, it choked her mind, making it impossible to think. All she could do was cry as she stared into the leering face. But then the sly look returned to Wanderspoon’s eyes.

“However, there may be one glimmer of true hope, a single pustule the size of a rat dropping. But hope is hope and it must never be discounted. If we hurry, there might be someone who can keep you from suffering inordinately as you disintegrate into a foul-smelling, deciduous stalk of wood. Have you ever heard of the Worwil?”

Amanda was so startled that she stopped crying. “Yes. One of them sent me on this trip.”

“Aha.” The little man’s eyes glittered. “Well, that explains everything. Most of them have gone bad, you know. Utterly rotten and evil. But there may be one who can still be trusted. Her name is Melania. She’s called The Healer. Have you heard of her?”

“I have.” Suddenly Amanda felt hope. Sandalban had told her that help would come in strange shapes, and no stranger shape could there be than this repulsive little man. “The Healer…could she…make me well?”

“Oh, that’s far too much to ask. Your case has advanced beyond extremity. I don’t know what she can do. Probably nothing. In fact, I’m not even sure she’s still alive. I’ve had no contact with her in at least five centuries. But because I’m a noble and compassionate man, perhaps I’ll help you try to find her.”

“Would you? Oh, please…” She started crying again.

“Stop that! Crying only makes it worse. The disease loves to be watered with tears.”

With a great act of will, Amanda forced herself to stop.

“We’d better get going. Considering your advanced decrepitude, there’s no time to lose. Come along. My wagon’s outside.”

The simple act of rising from the couch made her groan and stagger.

“Now, don’t do that! Don’t fall over on me! If you fall over, I’ll leave you right where you are until you’re dry enough to chop into firewood.”

“I’m…okay. I’m not…gonna fall.” But when she tried to walk, it was impossible to bend her legs. As she held the baby, she realized that her arms were frozen in a cradled position. Wanderspoon gave her no assistance at all. Instead, as she struggled, he berated her.

“Come on, you can do better than that. Keep moving, lazy girl. We’ve got to get out of here. Pretty soon you’ll be completely stiff, and what am I supposed to do then? Do you think I want a dead tree cluttering my immaculate house? There’s not even enough wood in you to make a decent pile of kindling.”

Inch by inch Amanda crept out onto the porch. Nearby stood a broken-down wagon pulled by a ragged donkey. The back of it was filled with chopped logs from white trees. Rushing over, Wanderspoon began throwing them to the ground. When he was finished, he motioned to her.

“All right, get over here and lie down. The road we’re going to take is dangerous. Not good to travel after dark. I’m risking my life for you. Bad things are loose in the world. For two nights I’ve heard them. They haven’t been this way in a thousand years. Then two nights in a row. Now, I wonder what they want.”

He gave Amanda a crafty look. But she didn’t notice. It took all her strength and sweating concentration to creep across the yard and lower herself onto the wagon. Then she lay, holding the baby and panting for air. As Wanderspoon jumped onto the driver’s seat and the cart creaked away, tears streamed down her cheeks. She whispered words so low that only she could hear them, “
I’ve failed. I’m gonna die. We’re never gonna get help in time to save me. But please, please, God…if You’re really there…save this little boy.”

She couldn’t see her hands, but she knew that her fingers could no longer move. In fact, they were hardly fingers at all. They looked more like twigs growing from the branches of a small white tree. Too tired to think anymore, Amanda closed her eyes. But if she had kept them open, she would have seen an amazing sight. High up in the sky directly above her, so high that it was barely visible in the darkness, soared a great white eagle. From where it flew, the cart looked like a speck in the moonlight.

Suddenly the bird swooped down. In great spirals it fell until it was right above her. There it hovered on silent wings. If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen it bend its head, and with its beak cut into its own breast. A single drop of blood formed on the white feathers.

Amanda never felt the drop when it landed on her skin. But the baby saw it. With silvery eyes he watched as it disappeared into her body.

The pain eased and she slept.

For a few moments the eagle continued hovering. Then, without a sound, it flew away toward the Mountain and the Crimson Mists.

S
omeone screamed.

Alex’s body slammed against the floor and his eyes jerked open. For a moment he lay without moving, trying to figure out where he was. All around him glimmered dim-red moonlight. His head ached and he was drenched with sweat. Against his cheek he felt a moldy carpet, and a foot from his nose stood the leg of some kind of furniture. He struggled to look up at it.

A bed. Had he fallen out of it?

And who had screamed?

With a great effort he pulled himself up to his knees. But his head swam and he almost fell over. So hot! Why didn’t somebody turn down the heat? It’s sweltering in here! His clothes were plastered to his body. Suddenly he couldn’t bear the feel of his shirt on his skin. He ripped it off. Why couldn’t he wake up? Where in the world was he? It smelled like a garbage dump. And why was the air so thick?

Then terror began to churn in his guts. He knew where he was—he was in the room where the nightmare girl had brought him. He looked up. Towering above his head was a gigantic window, and in it he saw the outlined image of a figure that looked amazingly like himself. And somehow he remembered being up there, flattened, cracked, and broken into a thousand pieces held together by black veins of lead. Blind and deaf, yet feeling the sun getting hotter and hotter as it shone through his transparent body, wanting to shriek, but unable to make a sound. Had he had fallen out of the window? That was insane. None of this could be real.

His arm hurt.
That
was real. It ached all the way to the bone. Looking down, he saw the golden band that had been poured over the wound where the hell-dog had bitten him. He tried to pull it off, but it was embedded in his skin. Growling like an animal, he tore at it, but all he accomplished was to give himself several deep scratches with his filthy nails and a worse headache. Finally he gave up.

So tired. Exhausted. And the exhaustion made him confused. If only he could really sleep, maybe his mind would clear and he would know what to do. Alex dragged himself up on the bed and flopped down. Instantly billows of mold rose around him.

He jumped up in disgust. What he had taken for a spread was actually a layer of soft gray spores so thick it looked like a quilt of rat fur. He looked down at himself. His sweaty skin was covered with it. When he tried to wipe it off, it smeared into gray slime.

“Oh, yuuuuck!”

But the revulsion cleared his head. Why was he spending one more second in here? He had to get out or he would choke to death. Where was the way out? In the corner he saw the door. But as he rushed toward it, he heard the sound again.

A scream. Coming from far away. Like a terrified child.

It made him remember something. A painting on the wall. Tori! A painting of his little sister! Had he dreamed it? There were the curtains with the drawstring. But they were closed. He had pulled them open, he was sure of it. Rushing over he jerked them apart.

Nothing! Just a frame with an empty glass. Why would somebody hang something like that? As he stared at it, he felt cold radiating toward him. He touched the glass. It was like ice. No, it was colder than ice. It was freezing terror. He staggered back. He was going crazy. He had to get out right now. Rushing to the door, he was just reaching for the knob when it swung open hard, jamming his knuckles. He yelled!

And there she stood, just as beautiful as the night before. The girl he had chased through the cathedral. Instantly his fear turned into rage. “I want out of here right now!”

All she did was stare at him.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Grabbing her arm, he dragged her into the hall.

“Please…you’re hurting me.”

He let go. “I can’t breathe. I’ve got to get some air.”

“It’s cooler in my room.” She placed her hand on his bare chest and looked into his eyes. The touch was like an electric shock. Her fingers were so soft. As he stared at her, his mind grew foggy again.

“You could rest on my bed.” She moved closer.

He struggled to think. Why had he wanted to leave? He couldn’t quite remember anymore. All he knew was that the most beautiful girl he had ever seen was inviting him to her bedroom.

“What was your name? I…forgot.”

“Melesh.” Her body was against his. “But you can call me anything you want. Just don’t…hurt me again.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re angry after what I did to you last night.”

“I am?”

“Yes, very angry. Don’t you remember?”

Suddenly everything snapped into razor sharpness. Every detail of his agony slammed into him as though he were living it all again. Heat! Blood! Mold! Darkness! Terror! Her soft, laughing voice! What was wrong with him? How could he have forgotten? This was the filthy little witch who had tricked him, humiliated him, dragged him through the sewer like a dog on a chain, and all of that after he had
saved…her…life
. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen? He wanted to
gag
.

And she thought he was
angry
?

He almost laughed out loud. How about shrieking rage? Hurt her? He wanted to kill her. Hideous images flashed through his mind, but he kept his face icy calm.

“I am angry. Very angry.”

“I know.” She ran her fingers gently on his neck. “Do you remember what I told you last night when I brought you to your room?”

“Tell me again.”

Dropping her eyes, she whispered, “I said I was your slave.”

He stared at her coldly. “Does that mean I can tell you to do anything and you have to do it?”

She nodded.

“Anything?”

She looked straight at him. “Why don’t you find out?”

The soft words scorched through his brain, boiling down into the depths of his belly. How he detested her eyes. Yet how he wanted her—desired her—with a vicious hunger. Find out? That’s exactly what he would do. But not all at once. He would let the acid of his loathing pour over her drop by drop until he had paid her back a thousand times for all she had done to him. Slowly he reached out and ran his fingers through her long black hair. From it came a musky odor that drove him wild.

“If you’re my slave, kiss my feet.”

Instantly she knelt and obeyed.

“Now my hand.”

She bathed it with kisses. Her tongue on his skin turned his blood to fire.

“Your room…let’s go.” He struggled to get the words out.

Rising quickly, she led him down the hall. A short distance away they came to a black door. Opening it, she slipped inside. He followed. He expected a bedroom like the one he had left, but instead he was in a chamber large enough to hold a thousand people, the air was filled with what appeared to be slowly drifting mists of blood. At least that’s what he thought they were until he realized they were only masses of spider webs, thick with mold, shimmering in the red moonlight.

Why was the moon so bright in here?

Looking up, his mouth dropped open. Above him hung a window of staggering size, a single panel of leaded glass that covered the entire ceiling. Suspended in it, executed with breathtaking artistry, was the gigantic form of a girl in crystal. Her arms and legs were outstretched, her gown and hair streaked behind her as though she were falling from a terrible height. Her horrified eyes stared downward, frozen in the last moment before a death-crash. Through the glass of her open mouth fell a silent shriek of crimson light that illuminated the only object in the chamber. Across the room stood a black dais with seven stairs leading up to it. On the top squatted an enclosure shrouded in rotting curtains.

Alex was stunned, all his rage drained away beneath the crushing weirdness. “This is your…
bedroom
?”

The girl nodded.

“Where’s your bed?” He was struggling hard to get control of himself, to carry through with his intentions when what he wanted to do was run.

“Over there. Up those steps. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes, there is. You’re afraid. Don’t be afraid.” She moved toward him.

“I am not afraid.”
She thought he was a coward. Gritting his teeth, he rushed across the room to the dais. But when he looked back, she hadn’t followed.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

She smiled. As she walked toward him, her face was lost in darkness. And as she walked, she began singing in a low, soft voice. Alex couldn’t make out the words, but the sound sent chills through him.
“Don’t do that; I don’t like it.”

Silence.

When she was several feet away, she stopped and stared at him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Here I am. What are you going to do?”

“Anything I want.”

“Really?” The girl chuckled. Alex blanched. She was laughing at him again. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her body against his. The feel of her took his breath away. His knees almost buckled.

“Remember, don’t hurt me.”

More derision. Her voice reeked with it.
Filthy mocking witch!
Pulling her head back, he mashed his lips against hers. The response was amazing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a terrible fury. For a long moment they remained locked together. Then suddenly Alex
screamed
and shoved her away. Staggering across the room, he began choking, his stomach wrenched in dry heaves. As though she didn’t notice, the girl began climbing the stairs toward the bedchamber. And the eerie song began again. But this time the words were clear.

Slowly Alex’s choking and heaving subsided. He turned and stared up at her as though she were a living plague.
“Your mouth…what’s wrong with you?”

In answer, the girl pulled back the curtain. “Come and see.”

Inside the enclosure stood a large bed and something was lying on it. As she looked down at him, there were tears in her eyes. What he wanted to do was run, but he couldn’t. There was no choice. He had to see what she wanted to show him.

“What is that up there?”

She didn’t answer. As though drawn by an invisible force, Alex climbed the stairs. When he reached the top, he froze. On the bed lay a nightmare, splayed out on the filthy sheets, a body so old it was mummified. The skin was wrinkled and cracked as though it had been there for a thousand years. Much of it had turned to dust revealing bones. But most awful of all, still attached to the skull was a shroud of long black hair.

“I was so beautiful. Look what they did to me,” the girl whispered. “Soon, only my hair will remain.” Dropping the curtain, she turned toward him. Her eyes held a terrible longing. “Help me, please. It won’t be as bad next time. I promise. In a little while you won’t taste anything at all.”

She tried to touch his chest, but Alex jerked away. As he did so, he stumbled backward down the stairs and sprawled on the floor. The girl began descending toward him.

“Give me back my life and I’ll give you pleasure such as you have never known. A goddess will be your slave.”

Terrified, he jumped up and rushed to the door. Lurching through it, he ran…down one hall after another…trying every door he found. All were locked. But as he ran, he felt himself growing weaker and it became harder to breathe.

And then the fever hit him.

Sweat poured from his body, and he shook as though in a freezing wind. A purple darkness shrouded the edges of his vision, making the hallway look like a tunnel into death. His run slowed to a walk, but still he pushed on, desperate to escape. Then his legs began to go numb. A few more steps and he couldn’t feel them at all. With a groan he crashed to the floor and writhed. His skin was burning. If only he could have a sip of water to wet his smoldering tongue.

Instantly cool hands lifted his head and delicious water dribbled into his mouth. He looked up, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. A vague shadow was giving him a drink from a glistening pitcher. Then he heard the soft voice of Melesh.

“Little boy from far away, it won’t do any good to run. Don’t you understand? You belong to us now.”

The water stopped, and he felt her lips press against his. Once more he tasted the sickly sweet rot of death. But he was too weak to pull away or even to gag. All he could do was cry.

Alex drifted in and out of consciousness. What followed seemed like endless nights of burning fever, thrashing in a moldy bed interspersed with endless days hanging blind and flattened in the scorching sun. At dusk he would crash to the bed and roll off on the floor. There he would lie too weak to move until the girl came and dragged him up to begin a new night of horror. Through it all she sat beside him, chanting in a low, soft voice with red moonlight in her eyes. And as she chanted, Alex would dream.

First came nightmares. Gashes and wounds of memory. Home. Sisters. Mother. Father. Screaming. Divorce. These were mingled with jittering cuts and freeze-frames of all the horrors he had seen, one image after another retching across his brain like a movie slash-edited by an axe murderer. On and on it went, for what seemed like a thousand lifetimes. But somewhere in the endless dreaming, the images changed. The chanting became a lilt. Gone was the movie from hell. As the girl whisper-sang, his eyes seemed to open; he lifted out of his body and soared high in the air.

Light! Wind! He was free!

If this was death, he didn’t care. All he knew was that his body didn’t hurt anymore and he was gone from the sweat-reeking bed in the Cathedral of Horror. He sailed through misty clouds. Alex had never believed in heaven, but what he was experiencing now made him change his mind. He wondered if he would meet some angels. He looked over his shoulder—no wings, which was confusing. He thought everybody in heaven had wings. Then he looked down and almost cried.