Angel Fall (19 page)

“Insanity! Lying, evil monster girl!” Jumping to the ground, he rushed up the stairs. When he was beneath the statue he turned majestically. Raising his arms, he cried out, “Silence. Listen to me, my people. Withhold for a moment your ravishing displays of affection. I must speak to you of horror. There in my royal carriage sits a craven criminal riddled with disease. A burglar, a miscreant, a scoundrel, a stealer of infants, remorseless, pitiless, the lowest form of life. Beyond all hope. Far worse, beyond all
therapy
. And why have I transported such a monster? Out of nothing but kingly compassion. Though she had broken into my house, I have carried her this long distance to alleviate her suffering. But in what coin does she repay my kindness? With denigration and insults, besmirching the character of me, your one true king.”

He paused as though listening to the roar of an enraged mob.

“Yes, yes, I understand your desire to tear her limb from limb, but I urge you to restrain yourselves. Let her own diseased brain wreak the vengeance she so justly deserves. However, in your restraint, do not fail to show your displeasure, to reveal to her darkened mind the glory of my majesty, the godlike magnificence of Pilfius Bordre Wanderspoon.” With that, he made a deep bow, then turned on his heel and strode toward the building. Pushing through the glass doors, he didn’t seem to notice as they fell crashing to the ground.

Amanda looked down at the baby. “He’s totally insane. He could come back in the middle of the night and kill us. We’ve got to get away.” Desperately she struggled to push herself up, but the pain was so great that she fell back. “I can’t do it.” Looking down at herself, she started to cry. Prickling growths were shooting out of her elbows and knees. And something was sticking from her cheek that was beginning to block her vision. Suddenly the tears turned to anger. “Why did Bellwind send me out this way? She knew I’d never make it. I’m gonna die. We’re both gonna die and nobody cares. I want to go home.
I want my mom
.” Amanda closed her eyes, and through her tears she whispered, “Just get it over with. Let me die so I won’t hurt anymore.
Let me die right now.
”

As she lay, hurting and crying, a soft wind began to blow. Then she felt a strange vibration, and a voice she had never heard before spoke softly. “Stand up, child.”

Without thinking, she replied, “I can’t.”

“You can.”

So odd. Suddenly she wasn’t hurting anymore.

“Stand up.”

And Amanda stood up. The movement was easy, but everything felt weird, dislocated.

“Look down behind you.”

Turning, she looked. Lying in the cart with the baby in her arms was a girl whose body was slowly transforming into a small white tree. Branches tangled in her hair, and her skin was thick and rough like bark. It took a moment to realize that she was seeing herself from the outside. Then she became afraid.

“What’s happening?

The voice answered, “Do you really want to die, Amanda?”

“Who’s talking? Where are you?”

“Because, if that’s your wish, I’ll grant it.”

She grew angry again. “I’m dying whether I want to or not. I just can’t stand to hurt anymore.”

With great gentleness the voice answered, “So death is what you want?”

She began sobbing. “No! But I don’t want to live either. I hurt so much, and how am I supposed to get to the mountain if I can’t move?”

The wind grew stronger, and with it came the sound of distant singing. Once more Amanda felt the overwhelming love that had swept through her in Bellwind’s tower. The voice spoke again with deep emotion. “I have searched for one whose heart could be broken and would not turn cold, because the task is great and the road I travel is filled with sorrow.”

Suddenly all her anger vanished, and she whispered through her tears, “Who are you?”

“Do you really want to die, Amanda? Think carefully before you answer. All of your pain can end right now.”

“What would happen to the baby?”

Silence.

“I’ve carried him a long way; I have a right to know.”

“What is it that you know already?”

“I know he can’t be left with that evil little man. But look at me, I can’t even move. How can I protect him?”

“He is safe in your arms.”

Kneeling beside her body, she looked at the little boy who was sleeping peacefully. “It isn’t fair. I love him so much. I can’t leave him this way.”

“But what if loving him costs you everything?”

“I just don’t see how I can get him to the mountain. It’s impossible.”

“Loving and never giving up is all that matters. Your journey to the Mountain began the moment you were born. You will reach it because the One Who Lives in the Mists has called you. He will make the way.”

As she looked at the baby, his eyes opened and he looked back at her. “He loves me too. I can feel it,” she whispered.

“Do you want to live, Amanda? Think carefully before you answer.”

“I want to live…if it will help him.”

There was a long pause. When the voice spoke, it was filled with tears. “You have made your choice, and it will be honored forever. Now, see and learn the sorrows of the past, for in them are shadows of what is yet to come.”

There was a thunderous crash, and suddenly she heard the roar of screaming voices. As she stood up, everything changed. It was daylight, and no longer were the buildings black and broken. They were tall and majestic and glittered in the sun. Thousands of people surged in the street. Thousands more were leaning out of the windows. All were shrieking with rage. But they didn’t seem to realize that she was there. Then Amanda smelled a horrifying odor. Staring at the people closest to her, she almost screamed herself. Their skin was sickly yellow, and they were covered with huge running sores. Their eyes bulged and their hair was falling out. And as far as she could see, everyone was the same. The city was full of plague. The odor was the smell of dying.

But none of this was what terrified her the most. As Amanda stared at them, she realized that, because she was outside her own body, she could see inside theirs. She could see beneath their skin. And behind every face a second shadow-face was visible. It was like double vision, seeing the spirit under a mask of flesh and bone. Although their bodies were all different, old and young, men and women, plain and beautiful, the shadow-faces were exactly alike. Every feature that made one person unique from another had been rubbed away as though they had become leprous and grinded and grated and scraped themselves until every mark of individuality had been erased. Their noses and ears had vanished. Their eyes were empty circles of horror. What was left of their jaws hung open as though trying to scream, but all that came out was an eerie mewing whine that sounded like the drone of bees.

The droning whine and the shrieking—Amanda couldn’t stand it. She was about to close her eyes and cover her ears when the city shook with drumbeats. Instantly the screaming stopped and the crowd waited breathlessly. Then came the rhythmic crash of a thousand marching boots.

A block away, the crowd parted. Into view advanced an army, and at the front was a golden carriage pulled by white horses. To Amanda’s amazement, standing in it with his fists was a man who looked vaguely like Wanderspoon. But she almost didn’t recognize him because he was young and handsome. The only similarity with the ugly creature she knew was a vague cast of the face and an insane intensity in his eyes. Like everyone else he was covered with disease.

When the carriage reached the tower, a command rang out. It stopped and the army stopped behind it. Picking up a large covered basket, the man who looked like Wanderspoon jumped to the street, then rushed toward the stairs. As he passed, Amanda realized that she couldn’t see beneath his skin. With him the double vision didn’t work. At the top of the staircase he stopped beneath the statue and turned toward the crowd. There was another command and the army faced him. Then he cried out, “I promised that I would save you. And I have kept my word.” Pulling back the cover on the basket, he held it up for all to see. Amanda gasped. Inside was the little boy she had been carrying. “Healing is ours! Out of death, life will come for us all.”

Instantly the crowd went insane with joy. Wanderspoon raised his hand for silence. “But I ask you, my friends, why should we share this great gift with others? What have the ancient cities of Boreth ever done for us?”

The multitude screamed, “Nothing.”

“And Lammortan, what has he ever done but take our children and tell us lies? Why should we serve him any longer?”

There were screams of agreement.

“Then let us overthrow the gods and become gods ourselves. Together we will rule the world.”

For what seemed an eternity they raved and cheered. But when the sound began to die away, another voice rang out.
“You are all fools!”

Everyone turned to stare, as out of the crowd stepped a beautiful young woman. She was tall and her dark hair hung almost to her feet. Though she was ill like everyone else, in her eyes there was a strange power. And beneath her flesh Amanda could see a being filled with light.

When Wanderspoon saw her, he shrieked,
“You!
You dare to come here? If you have something to say…speak before you die.”

Like a queen going to her execution, the young woman walked up the stairs to face him. Then she cried out, “Do you think this terrible act will save you?” She turned to the crowd. “How many times have you been warned and you have not listened? I bring you the final message. You killed your souls with your evil. And now your bodies will follow.
Let the judgment come!”

Wanderspoon screamed, “How long must we live with the babbling of these false prophets? It is time to silence them forever.” Then he shoved her down the stairs.

Instantly the mob was on her. Throwing the young woman to the ground, they began beating and stomping. As they pounded and kicked her to death, her face remained utterly peaceful, and the light that was inside grew brighter with every blow. At the moment of dying she looked straight up at Amanda and whispered, “Until Mountaincry.” Then there was a flash of blinding brilliance and the light disappeared.

The young woman’s broken body was lifted and passed over the cheering mob, her blood drenching those beneath her. With shouts of joy everyone surged forward, desperate for the drops to fall on them. Then Wanderspoon held the basket high and shrieked, “To the sacrifice!” A great cheer went up as he rushed down the steps toward his carriage. There were yells of command and the drums began to beat.

But just as they were at a fever pitch, Amanda heard a call that made every other sound vanish into silence. It started in a low moan that made the buildings tremble, then it lifted into a bloodcurdling scream. The mob froze. A man pointed and everyone looked up.

Looming above the skyscrapers was a gigantic bird hanging motionless in the air. Instead of two wings, it had six, and its feathers looked like shards of broken glass dazzling in the sun. And it was staring down with huge flaming eyes. Its beak opened and out of it came another scream. The people turned and ran, shrieking, trampling, clawing each other to get away. But it was too late. The ground began to rise and fall like the waves of an ocean. The pavement cracked into huge fissures. The buildings danced and teetered, then split and crashed. Thousands disappeared beneath the crushing debris.

From high above there came a wrenching groan. The universe seemed to grow black with boiling mist. Then fire vomited downward. Burning rivers poured from the sky onto the buildings, rolling down the walls, exploding and surging through the streets in mighty waves. Though the agony and destruction were unspeakable, the last thing Amanda saw was the most terrifying of all. As the people died, their spirits twisted out of their bodies and hovered in the air. For a moment they looked around confused as though not knowing what had happened. Then the bird gave a haunting cry, and with agonizing wails, all of them began rising toward him. Quickly they gathered beneath him like a swarm of flies. Then, majestically, the creature turned, his wings began to beat, and he vanished into the smoke. Like a stream of shadows in the fiery sky, a million spirits followed. And in a heartbeat, all were gone.

D
ay.

Daylight.

Amanda couldn’t move. Everything was a blur. Try as hard as she could, her eyes wouldn’t focus. Her jaw was frozen shut, and she didn’t even have the strength to groan. Suddenly she heard someone climb onto the cart. Then a vague shape that looked like a head bent close, and out of it came the voice of Wanderspoon.

“There, you see? Just as I predicted. You can’t move and you can’t talk anymore, either. Silent as the forest on a winter night, that’s what you are. And so much the better for me. I won’t have to listen to anymore of your vicious insults. Since you can’t see yourself, let me describe your appearance. In short, you’ve become a deciduous denizen of the thicket. Your skin has turned to bark, and your hair is a mass of dirty little branches. Nasty roots are growing from your feet, and since they aren’t attached to the ground, no moisture can get into your ugly trunk, which means you’ll get drier and drier unless I plant you someplace. But why should I do that when you’re getting exactly what you deserve? Well, from now on it will be a much pleasanter trip for me. Perhaps I shall sing a bit.”

Humming happily to himself, the little man climbed into the seat, and Amanda felt the cart begin to move. Slowly it rolled and bounced over the broken pavement.

Light.

Shadows.

Darkness.

Light.

Shadows.

Darkness.

The squeaking axle.

Wanderspoon’s awful, tuneless gargling.

Light.

Shadows.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

And then slow awakening.

When she awoke, Amanda was at home.

D
reams and visions, what are they?

Dreams come when the body sleeps. Visions come whenever they please.

Dreams drift away like a morning haze. But a vision is something you never forget.

And it was a vision that came to Amanda.

In it, she was lying in her old bed in the old bedroom. The little-girl room. And it was dark, but not the darkness of night. A misty darkness soft in the air.

Without knowing how, she knew that everything was just the way it had been in the Time Before Time so long ago. The room with the pink walls and the fluffy white curtains. The room she had tried so hard to forget. A different Amanda had lived here, the Amanda who had loved stuffed animals and collected them by the dozens, the Amanda who had sat for hours pretending they were all alive.

The pretending room—gone forever. Vanished with Amanda the child. But not forever. It was back again. And the animals were back, waiting in a pile in the corner where they always waited until she awoke. Imaginary friends, but not the closest friends. None of the ones on the floor had earned the right to sleep in her bed. Only two could do that: the bear with the broken eyes and the scrunched-up dog with eyes that wouldn’t open—both furless because she had hugged them so much. They had been the hardest to throw away. For a long time she had allowed them an agonizing reprieve. From her bed to the floor, from the floor to the secret place on the garage roof where the rain and snow had obliterated their identities and unnamed them. That’s what she had done. Letting them die had taken their names away. When their faces had disappeared and their seams had broken, she had ripped their stuffing out and tossed it to the wind. So strange. They were back again, resurrected beside her pillow. Old imaginary friends. Instinctively Amanda pulled them into her arms and felt their softness against her cheek. Yes, everything was just as it had been.

But it wasn’t.

Because it could never be.

Why was she in this place, the room she hated, so full of lying memories? Like soft fingers running through her hair, her mother’s fingers. Her mother sitting on the bed, listening and loving while little Amanda babbled on about the vastly important nothings of childhood. And when sleep was about to come, looking up into her mother’s face. How beautiful she had been in the Time Before Time. Hearing her whisper-sing a lullaby, while Amanda, the child long vanished, hugged the bear and the dog.
How she hated those memories!
She had told herself so often that they weren’t real until finally none of them
were
real. If they had happened at all, it was to another child, a different Amanda.

So what
was
real? Sorrow was real. Night after night, tiptoeing to stand outside her mother’s bedroom, hearing the sobs coming from behind the closed door. How could her mother sob that way and go on living? Fear. That was real too. Maybe she was dying in there, slipping away one horrible sob at a time. Terrified, Amanda had listened…and listened…until the sobbing faded into silence. And then, like a little shadow, she had cracked open the door and slipped into the room. Over to the bed. Standing breathlessly now. A careful examination in the darkness. Yes, breathing. The blanket was going up and down, which meant her mother was still
alive
.

Thank you, God. Thank You, thank You, thank You. I’ll be good from now on. Just don’t take her away.

Then, tiptoeing back to the room with the pink walls and the white curtains where her own sobbing would begin. That’s when she had discovered that the bear and the dog were a hiding place for tears. So much sorrow—more than she should ever know.

As she lay in the vision room, once more Amanda was little Amanda, pouring out her heart to the furry creatures in her arms. Words on top of words. Mixed up. Jumbled. The heartaches of two worlds.

Alex, where are you?

Tori, I never got to say good-bye.

Daddy, why did you leave us?

Mommy, why did you stop running your fingers through my hair?

Alone, so alone. Walking through a wilderness carrying a baby. Such a burden across so many miles. Alone, so alone. Walking through her house after her father had gone. Hearing sobs behind closed doors. Yes, Alex had sobbed too, though he never would admit it. Burdens on top of burdens. Trying to carry the people she loved. Child mother to a child whose name she didn’t know. Child mother to her mother and brother and sister, willing to give up her own childhood as a gift of love. Wanting to carry them, but unable to do it, because the weight of their sorrow was too much to bear.

Stumbling…falling…sobbing beneath the load.

And through it all, who had been there for little Amanda? No one but the furry animals. No one but the bear and the dog. Had no one ever cared about her sorrow? Had no one ever stood outside her door and listened to the sounds of her broken heart? Was she so worthless? Was that why her father had left her?

Tears. And the echo of tears.

But then a strange memory began to seep in around the edges of her weeping. Alone? Had she
really
been alone? Was there something that she had forgotten? A silvery shadow at the back of her mind? No one had ever taught Amanda to pray. No one had ever said there would be anyone listening. But she had done it anyway, night after night. And as the words tumbled out a strange warmth had quieted her sorrow. She had decided that the warmth was God. At first it had brought great comfort, so she had poured out everything in a jumble of mixed-up words and heartaches. But as the nights passed the jumble distilled into one begging, burning cry.

Please, please, please bring him back to us. Make him love us again. Make him love me.

But in the warmth there was only silence. And finally one night she had decided that warmth was not enough. She wanted her father back right now! Was that too much to ask? Just one little thing?

More silence.

And silence.

And silence.

In spite of all her prayers, her tears, and pleading promises, her father had not returned. Then one day the news had come that he had married someone else. That night there was no sobbing in Amanda’s room. And there were no prayers either. Why keep mumbling words into empty darkness? It was like talking to stuffed animals. And that’s what Amanda had decided she had been doing all along, praying to the bear and the dog. In her anger she had banished them to the floor, vowing never to pray again. From that night on, the warmth had turned to emptiness.

But now, in the vision—this odd, soft vision—she felt the warmth return. And there was something in it. No, not
something…Someone
. And she heard a voice whisper, “Amanda…little child…look at me.”

It was the same voice that had spoken to her in the city. She strained to see, but no one was visible. “Where are you?”

The words came again, “Amanda…little child…look at me.”

“I’m looking, but I can’t see you.”

“I’m standing in the past, in a room of many sorrows. Do you know this room?”

“I know where I am right now and I hate it. Why am I here?”

“Because you have never left.”

Instantly her mouth went dry and fear raced through her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“In this room there are wounds that have never stopped bleeding.”

Suddenly the darkness deepened and there was a damp, suffocating odor.
What is that smell?
Amanda began trembling.

Sweat.

It was the smell of sweat.

And it brought terror. She tried to jump up, to run away…but she couldn’t move. She began struggling, but the blankets seemed to tighten around her.
“Help! Let me out. Somebody help me!”

Silence.

And silence.

And silence.

The silence before something. The silence of an abyss. The silence of the Time When There Was No Time. The silence between
Then
and
Now
. The silence of things Never To Be Remembered. The silence of a door after it is shut. More silence than a child should ever have to bear. And then, in the silence, sobbing, echoing through the years as though life itself were sobbing away. As Amanda sobbed, the warmth encircled her and the air shimmered with crimson mist. In it stood the outline of a man whose face she couldn’t see, but the warmth of love was flowing from him.

“I’m standing in the past and you must stand with me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“If you don’t, you will die.”

“But remembering hurts so bad.”

“Little child, give me your hand.”

“I’m…afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid. I will never leave you.”

Slowly she lifted her hand and felt a strong, warm hand take hold.

“Where are we going?”

“Through it all…to Sorrow’s End.”

Gagging
…

Suffocating…

Screaming…

Crushing…

Searing…

Burning…

Sobbing…

Sobbing-sobbing…

And all in total silence.

Shhhhh…not a sound.

Not ever!

Killing words.

Secret words.

Drowning under waves of secrets and silence. Gone. Everything gone.

Dying…shriveling…vanishing…

But then in the silent darkness Amanda felt the strong hand holding hers and heard the voice whisper, “Stand up, child.”

“I can’t.” The words came from her mind not her lips. The weight on her was too heavy for her to breathe, and the smell of sweat was choking her.

“Stand up, child.”

“I said, I can’t!”
Angry now! She was angry. Wanting to sleep. Wanting to forget forever.

“Stand up!”
It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

So odd. Suddenly Amanda stood up. The hand lifted her to her feet. “Now turn and see and don’t be afraid.”

Turning, she looked down at her bed. “What
is
that?”

Covering it from top to bottom was a thick pool of oily blackness that slowly oozed back and forth like a feeding amoeba. Out of the pool rose a reeking haze. As she watched, the pool receded until she could see her own head lying on the pillow. Her eyes were open, but they were frozen as though she had gone blind.

“What’s happening? What’s that all over me?”

And then the amoeba congealed into a man. He was lying on her bed and her body was under him. In that moment Amanda remembered all that she had tried so hard to forget. From out of the deepest part of her, it came up in a desperate wail. The terror. The horror. The pain. The shame. The self-loathing. The loss. The Fear. The Fear.
The Fear
. Night after night. Lying awake in the silence. Waiting in terror.

The door opens. The door closes. Softly, so softly.

She closes her eyes, trying to die, willing herself outside her body into a place without feeling. But she
does feel
. Crushing weight. Hurting. Burning. Drowning. On and on. And always, the soft, hideous voice whispering…grinding lies into her ear.

Her fault.

Hers.

Not his.

Warning. Whining. Threatening. Pleading. Wheedling.
Killing. Murdering!
Yes,
murdering!
Choking away the last little pieces of childhood that had been left to her. The end of little Amanda.

The door opens. And the door closes. Softly, so softly.

And she sobs herself to sleep hoping that tomorrow will never come.

But morning always does come. And with it shame. A breakfast of self-loathing at the kitchen table. From her mother, jittering talk. From her brother sullen silence. From her sister breathless babbling about plastic dolls with perfect female bodies. And
him! Him
looking at her. Her mother’s brother who had come to stay with them six months after her father had left. Looking and looking and
looking
.

Don’t look back or you will die.

All she can do is stare down at her untouched food, trying to make herself deaf to the jittering jumble of “Why-aren’t-you-eating? You-never-eat. Don’t-you-feel-well? You-need-to-eat. You-can’t-go-to-school-without eating.” Sticking a spoonful into her mouth. Wanting to vomit. Like eating garbage. Like
being
garbage. The food, so ugly on the plate. Pieces of her own face reflecting on the shiny surface around the eggy goo. So ugly. That’s why her father had left. Who could love such an ugly girl broken all into pieces?

Only him!

That’s what he had said to her.

That’s exactly what he had said in the grinding whispers.

Night after night!

In the vision Amanda shrieked and leaped onto his back. She pounded, tearing, pulling his hair, trying to rip his eyeballs out—to choke him—to feel him die in agony and go to hell forever. But no matter what she did, he didn’t seem to feel it. So she tried harder until all her strength was exhausted and she slid into a sobbing heap on the floor. How many times she had imagined tearing him into bloody pieces. But it meant nothing. Because she was weak and he was strong. She was alone with no one to protect her. Without a father who loved her enough to stay!

Long after the door had closed for the last time, the memory had scorched her heart. And it was more than she could bear. Only one answer. Lose herself within herself. Close off. Shut down. Lock tight. And never, ever open the Room of Darkness, the room of rage and pain and sorrow with pink walls and white fluffy curtains.

But now it
was
open.

And she was helpless in it. As Amanda lay choking and gasping, she felt someone kneel beside her and gently lift her in his arms. He was crying too. So strange. No one had ever cried like that. She could feel within him an eternity of sorrow as though all the tears that had ever been shed had been stored in a single broken heart. And he was crying with her; no one had ever cried with her before.